ANGEL AGNES. May God protect you, reader of this book, from all manner of sickness; but above all, from that thrice dreaded pestilence, yellow fever. Of all the scourge ever sent upon poor sinful man, none equals in horror and loathsomeness yellow fever. Strong fathers and husbands, sons and brothers, who would face the grape-shot battery in battle, have fled dismayed from the approach of yellow fever.... more...

CHAPTER I.—IN THE ATTIC. I live in an attic. I am in the immediate neighbourhood of a great tavern and a famous place of amusement. The thoroughfare on which I can look whilst I sit at my window is noisy with perpetual traffic. In the midst of London I am more of a hermit than is that pretentious humbug who waves his flag at passing steamers from his rock in the Ægean. I am not a hermit from any... more...

Hawarden Village and Manor. Hawarden, in Flintshire, lies 6 miles West of Chester, at a height of 250 feet, overlooking a large tract of Cheshire and the Estuary of the Dee.  It is now in direct communication with the Railway world by the opening of the Hawarden and Wirral lines.  It is also easily reached from Sandycroft Station, or from Queen’s Ferry, (1½ m.)—whence the Church is plainly... more...

CHAPTER I. WOMAN WITHOUT THE GOSPEL. POLITICAL CONDITION.—NESTORIAN HOUSES.—VERMIN.—SICKNESS.—POSITION AND ESTIMATION OF WOMAN.—NO READERS AMONG THEM.—UNLOVELY SPIRIT.—SINS OF THE TONGUE.—PROFANITY.—LYING.—STEALING.—STORY ABOUT PINS.—IMPURITY.—MOSLEM INTERFERENCE WITH SEMINARY. We love to wander over a well-kept estate. Its green meadows and fruitful fields delight the eye.... more...

THE BEGINNINGS OF TRACTARIANISM During the first years of my residence at Oriel, tho proud of my college, I was not quite at home there. I was very much alone, and I used often to take my daily walk by myself. I recollect once meeting Dr. Copleston, then Provost, with one of the Fellows. He turned round, and with the kind courteousness which sat so well on him, made me a bow and said, Nunquam minus... more...

CHAPTER I THE STRANGER AT DRY BOTTOM From the crest of Three Mile Slope the man on the pony could see the town of Dry Bottom straggling across the gray floor of the flat, its low, squat buildings looking like so many old boxes blown there by an idle wind, or unceremoniously dumped there by a careless fate and left, regardless, to carry out the scheme of desolation. Apparently the rider was in no hurry,... more...

SKETCH OF A NEW ESTHETIC OF MUSIC“What seek you? Say! And what do you expect?”—know not what; the Unknown I would have!What's known to me, is endless; I would goBeyond the end: The last word still is wanting.”[“”]Loosely joined together as regards literary form, the following notes are, in reality, the outcome of convictions long held and slowly matured. In them a problem of the first... more...

I. The Light in the Window A rickety carriage was slowly ascending the hill, and from the place of honour on the back seat, the single passenger surveyed the country with interest and admiration. The driver of that ancient chariot was an awkward young fellow, possibly twenty-five years of age, with sharp knees, large, red hands, high cheek-bones, and abundant hair of a shade verging upon orange. He was... more...

INTRODUCTION I eagerly avail myself of the Author's invitation to write a foreword to her book, as it gives me an opportunity of expressing something of the admiration, of the wonder, of the intense brotherly sympathy and affection—almost adoration—which has from time to time overwhelmed me when witnessing the work of our women during the Great War. They have been in situations where, five... more...

CHAPTER I ON THE TRAIN “Maryland, my Maryland!” dreamily hummed Dorothy Calvert. “Not only your Maryland, but mine,” was the resolute response of the boy beside her. Dorothy turned on him in surprise. “Why, Jim Barlow, I thought nothing could shake your allegiance to old New York state; you’ve told me so yourself dozens of times, and—” “I know, Dorothy; I’ve thought so myself, but... more...