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by:
George Waring
CHAPTER I. "Bless me, I do believe I have been asleep!" said a squirrel, one fine morning in early spring, when the delicious warmth of the sun had reached him in his winter retreat, and roused the lazy little fellow from a two months' nap. The truth is, that he and his family had fallen asleep at the first setting in of the cold weather, and had passed the dismal winter in a state of...
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by:
Floyd Gibbons
Personal. AMERICAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCESOFFICE OF THE COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF France, August 17, 1918. Mr. Floyd Gibbons,Care Chicago Tribune,420 Sue Saint-Honore,Paris. Dear Mr. Gibbons: At this time, when you are returning to America, I wish to express to you my appreciation of the cordial cooperation and assistance you have always given us in your important work as correspondent of the Chicago Tribune in...
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Dinner was over, and Mme. Constantin and her guests were seated under the lighted candles in her cosey salon. With the serving of the coffee and cigarettes, pillows had been adjusted to bare shoulders, stools moved under slippered feet, and easy lounges pushed nearer the fire. Greenough, his long body aslant, his head on the edge of a chair, his feet on the hearth rug, was blowing rings to the ceiling....
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In which the Hero makes his First Flash and Explosion. Somewhere about the middle of this nineteenth century, a baby boy was born on the raging sea in the midst of a howling tempest. That boy was the hero of this tale. He was cradled in squalls, and nourished in squalor—a week of dirty weather having converted the fore-cabin of the emigrant ship into something like a pig-sty. Appreciating the...
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by:
Booth Tarkington
CHAPTER I A BOY AND HIS DOG Penrod sat morosely upon the back fence and gazed with envy at Duke, his wistful dog. A bitter soul dominated the various curved and angular surfaces known by a careless world as the face of Penrod Schofield. Except in solitude, that face was almost always cryptic and emotionless; for Penrod had come into his twelfth year wearing an expression carefully trained to be...
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by:
James Parton
PREFACE. The design of the projector of this volume was, that it should contain the Best of the shorter humorous poems in the literatures of England and the United States, except: Poems so local or cotemporary in subject or allusion, as not to be readily understood by the modern American reader; Poems which, from the freedom of expression allowed in the healthy ages, can not now be read aloud in a...
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by:
Alexander Whyte
CHAPTER I—THE BOOK ‘—the book of the wars of the Lord.’—Moses. John Bunyan’s Holy War was first published in 1682, six years before its illustrious author’s death. Bunyan wrote this great book when he was still in all the fulness of his intellectual power and in all the ripeness of his spiritual experience. The Holy War is not the Pilgrim’s Progress—there is only one Pilgrim’s...
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by:
James Johonnot
HOW FOWLS LOOK. 1. Here we find the hen and chickens, a new company of our farm-yard friends. We see that they are very unlike the other friends we have been studying, and, though we know them well, we may find out something new about them. 2. Instead of a coat of hair or fur, the hen is covered with feathers, all pointing backward and lying over each other, so that the rain falls off as from the...
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by:
Wilfrid Ward
CHAPTER I The memorial service for Sir David Bright was largely attended. Perhaps he was fortunate in the moment of his death, for other men, whose military reputations had been as high as his, were to go on with the struggle while the world wondered at their blunders. It was only the second of those memorial services for prominent men which were to become so terribly usual as the winter wore on. Great...
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by:
George Colman
PROLOGUE. The Bard, when first he gave his mind to write, Thought it his only business, that his Plays Should please the people: but it now falls out, He finds, much otherwise, and wastes, perforce, His time in writing Prologues; not to tell The argument, but to refute the slanders Broach’d by the malice of an older Bard. And mark what vices he is charg’d withal! Menander wrote the Andrian and...
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