January. Welcome, wild North-easter!   Shame it is to seeOdes to every zephyr:   Ne’er a verse to thee.. . . . .Tired we are of summer,   Tired of gaudy glare,Showers soft and steaming,   Hot and breathless air.Tired of listless dreaming   Through the lazy day:Jovial wind of winter   Turn us out to play!Sweep the golden reed-beds;   Crisp the lazy dyke;Hunger into madness   Every... more...

CHAPTER I."A SWEET GIRL GRADUATE.""Her eyesWould match the southern skiesWhen southern skies are bluest;Her heartWill always, take its partWhere southern hearts are truest."Such youth,With all its charms, forsooth.Alas! too well I know it!—Will claimA song of love and fameSung by some southern poet." "It's a perfect godsend, this invitation!" cried Olive Peyton, with... more...

CHAPTER I. MISS PINSHON. I want an excuse to myself for writing my own life; an excuse for the indulgence of going it all over again, as I have so often gone over bits. It has not been more remarkable than thousands of others. Yet every life has in it a thread of present truth and possible glory. Let me follow out the truth to the glory. The first bright years of my childhood I will pass. They were... more...

PREFACE By Irvin S. CobbTherôle of discoverer is pleasing, nearly always, and more especially in its reactions is it pleasing. The actual performance of discovery may be fraught with hardships and with inconveniences and even with perils; as witness Christopher Columbus making his first voyage over this way in a walloping window-blind of a tub of a ship and his last one back with chains at his wrists... more...

CHAPTER I. A warm day in the southern part of West Virginia was fast drawing to a close; the heat during the day had been almost intolerable under the rays of the piercing sun, and the night was coming on in sullen sultriness. No breath of cooling air stirred the leafy branches of the trees; the stillness was broken only by the chirping of the crickets, and the fire-flies twinkled for a moment, and... more...

PART I.HRO' scented meadows, where do grazeThe meek-eyed kine on summer days,At early morn swept Daisy Dare,—Sparkling, graceful, passing fair.Sparkling as the dew-drops gleamingOn her path, or sunlight streamingThrough her tresses—graceful, fair,As naught on earth save Daisy Dare! Wondrous tresses! sunshine fadesMid floating curls and sumptuous braids,—A crown of light that glorifiesWhite... more...

CHAPTER I. THE FIRST SMOKE OF THE BATTLEFIELD. While Miss Cardigan went with her nephew to the door, I remained standing by the fire, which could have witnessed to so much done around it that night. I felt strong, but I remember my cheeks had an odd sensation as if the blood had left them. I did not know Miss Cardigan had come back, till I saw her standing beside me and looking at me anxiously.... more...

PART I At the little town of Vevey, in Switzerland, there is a particularly comfortable hotel. There are, indeed, many hotels, for the entertainment of tourists is the business of the place, which, as many travelers will remember, is seated upon the edge of a remarkably blue lake—a lake that it behooves every tourist to visit. The shore of the lake presents an unbroken array of establishments of this... more...

Daisy Hanbury poked her parasol between the bars of the cage, with the amiable intention of scratching the tiger's back. The tiger could not be expected to know this all by himself, and so he savagely bit the end of it off, with diabolical snarlings. Daisy turned to her cousin with a glow of sympathetic pleasure. "What a darling!" she said. "He didn't understand, you see, and was... more...

In this little Extravaganza, I have done just what I intended. I have attempted to describe, in an auto-biographical sort of way, a well-meaning, but somewhat vain young gentleman, who, having flirted desperately with the Magazines, takes it into his silly head to write a novel, all the chapters of which are laid before the reader, with some running criticism by T. James Barescythe, Esquire, the... more...