AUGUST 20, 1887. (To be translated into French, German, and Italian, for the benefit of Foreigners.) In the Train.Continental Railways are disgracefully mismanaged. This train does not travel at anything like the rate of our expresses. The "Flying Scotchman" travels at 50, 100, or 150 (according to fancy) miles the hour. I object to smoking; also wish all the windows to be opened or closed (as... more...

THE DEGRADATION OF BEAUTY Some time ago I found myself at an exhibition of Post-Impressionist pictures, under the ægis of an artist who was himself of that persuasion. Indeed, he was one of the exhibitors, and I was constrained to express my opinions in the form of questions. We passed before a picture which to my untutored eyes was formless, meaningless and ugly. It was by a well-known artist, and my... more...

THE FARMER'S WIFE. It is an evening in June, and the skies that have been weeping of late, owing to some calamity best known to themselves, have suddenly dried their eyes, and called up a smile to enliven their gloomy countenances. The farmers, who have been shaking their heads at sight of the unmown grass, and predicting a bad hay-harvest, are beginning to brighten up with the weather, and to... more...

The Indiaman. “Well, Thudicumb, I hope by noon we may at last get a glimpse of the sun,” said Captain Davenport to his first officer, as they walked the deck of the Bussorah Merchant, homeward bound from the East Indies, and at that time rolling on over the long heaving seas of the Atlantic. The sky was overcast, but ever and anon a gleam of light burst forth amid the clouds, playing on the foaming... more...

CHAPTER I. In this volume I shall not attempt to give the origin and history of the Negro race either in Africa or in America. My attempt is to deal only with conditions that now exist and bear a relation to the Negro in America and that are likely to exist in the future. In discussing the Negro, it is always to be borne in mind that, unlike all the other inhabitants of America, he came here without... more...

CLOCKS. There are two kinds of clocks. There is the clock that is always wrong, and that knows it is wrong, and glories in it; and there is the clock that is always right—except when you rely upon it, and then it is more wrong than you would think a clock could be in a civilized country. I remember a clock of this latter type, that we had in the house when I was a boy, routing us all up at three... more...

I THE MAN WITH THE NAILED SHOES There are, I suppose, few places even on the East Coast of England more lonely and remote than the village of Little Sundersley and the country that surrounds it. Far from any railway, and some miles distant from any considerable town, it remains an outpost of civilization, in which primitive manners and customs and old-world tradition linger on into an age that has... more...

“My Aunt Enticknapp.” “So there ain’t no idea, then, of takin’ Miss Susan?” “No, indeed! My mistress will have enough on her hands as it is, what with the journey, and poor Master Freddie such a care an’ all, an’ so helpless. I don’t deny I’ve a sinkin’ myself when I think of it; but if it’s to do the poor child good, I’m not the one to stand in his way.” “Where’s she... more...

AUTOGRAPHS. It is long since our pages were illustrated with such characteristic lineaments as those on the opposite page. The reader will, however, perceive that we have not entirely forgotten the quaint motto from Shenstone, in our earlier volumes— "I want to see Mrs. Jago's handwriting, that I may judge of her temper." Still the annexed Autographs have not been drawn from our own... more...

Pheasant Shooting.See the Fowler takes his aim,To bring down the feather'd game;September Season is the time,When these birds are in full prime. London. Printed, Published & Sold by W. Belch, Newington Butts. How happy & frisky the Rabbits appear,Prancing & skipping without any fear;But alas, their enjoyment is like to be short,By the aim of a Gunner who seeks them for sport. Badger... more...