The unhappy Flemish people, who are at present much in the lime-light, because of the invasion and destruction of their once smiling and happy little country, were of a character but little known or understood by the great outside world. The very names of their cities and towns sounded strangely in foreign ears. Towns named Ypres, Courtrai, Alost, Furnes, Tournai, were in the beginning of the invasion... more...

Th' Better Part. A poor owd man wi' tott'ring gait,Wi' body bent, and snowy pate,Aw met one day;—An' daan o' th' rooad side grassy banksHe sat to rest his weary shanks;An' aw, to wile away my time,O'th' neighbouring hillock did recline,An' bade "gooid day." Said aw, "Owd friend, pray tell me true,If in your heart yo niver rueThe time... more...

CHAPTER I. Philip Ogilvie and his pretty wife were quarrelling, as their custom was, in the drawing-room of the great house in Belgrave Square, but the Angel in the nursery upstairs knew nothing at all about that. She was eight years old, and was, at that critical moment when her father and mother were having words which might embitter all their lives, and perhaps sever them for ever, unconsciously and... more...

“Lo! now is come our joyful'st feast,Let every man be jolly.Each room with ivy leaves is drest,And every post with holly.Now all our neighbors' chimneys smoke,And Christmas blocks are burning;Their ovens they with bak't meats choke,And all their spits are turning.” The celebration of Christmas, which was considered by the Puritans to be idolatrous, has for many centuries been so... more...

YORK TERRACE, REGENT'S PARK. If the reader is anxious to illustrate any political position with the "signs of the times," he has only to start from Waterloo-place, (thus commencing with a glorious reminiscence,) through Regent-street and Portland-place, and make the architectural tour of the Regent's Park. Entering the park from the New Road by York Gate, one of the first objects for... more...

A TRUE STORY. HEN I was in Boston about a year ago, I stopped one day at the corner of Washington Street and Franklin Street to witness a pretty sight.Here, just as you turn into Franklin Street, on the right, a poor peddler used to stand with a few baskets of oranges or apples or peanuts, which he offered for sale to the passers-by. The street-pigeons had found in him a good friend; for he used to... more...

OFF FOR THE MOUNTAINS. “Sunrise Camp! What next, pray tell me?” sighed Miss Helen Campbell. “But it doesn’t mean getting up at sunrise, Cousin Helen,” Billie Campbell assured her. “Although Papa says we would like it, once we got started. Campers always do rise with the sun. It’s the proper thing to do.” “But why do they give it that uncivilized name?” continued Miss Campbell in an... more...

The Night Before Christmas. 'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In the hope that St. Nicholas soon would be there. The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads. And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled... more...

THE BELLS. In the steeple of an old church was a beautiful chime of bells, which for many years had rung out joyous peals at the touch of the sexton's hand upon the rope. "I'll make the air full of music to-morrow," said the white-haired man, as he lay down to his slumbers. "To-morrow is Christmas, and the people shall be glad and gay. Ah, yes! right merry will be the chimes I... more...

Arsene Arnaud Claretie (commonly called Jules), was born on December 3, 1840, at Limoges, the picturesque and smiling capital of Limousin. He has been rightly called the "Roi de la Chronique" and the "Themistocle de la Litterature Contemporaine." In fact, he has written, since early youth, romances, drama, history, novels, tales, chronicles, dramatic criticism, literary criticism,... more...