THE MISSING BANK MANAGER Every Monday morning, when the clock of the old parish church in Scarnham Market-Place struck eight, Wallington Neale asked himself why on earth he had chosen to be a bank clerk. On all the other mornings of the week this question never occurred to him: on Sunday he never allowed a thought of the bank to cross his mind: from Sunday to Saturday he was firmly settled in the usual... more...

CHAPTER I. POLLY GIVES MUSIC LESSONS. "Miss Pepper—Miss Pepper!" Polly turned quickly, it was such an anxious little cry. "What? Oh, Amy Loughead." Amy threw herself up against Polly's gown. "Oh, if I may," she began, flushing painfully. "You see my brother is coming to-morrow—I've a letter—so if you will let me." "Let you what?" cried Polly, with... more...

CHAPTER I. ALDINGTON VILLAGE—THE MANOR HOUSE—THE FARM.      "There's a divinity that shapes our ends."                                              —Hamlet.      "Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard... more...

CHAPTER I OLD FRIENDS Mynheer Jacobus Huysman walked to the window and looked out at the neat red brick houses, the grass, now turning yellow, and the leaves, more brown than green. He was troubled, in truth his heart lay very heavy within him. He was thinking over the terrible news that had come so swiftly, as evil report has a way of doing. But he had cause for satisfaction, too, and recalling it, he... more...

THE VIOLIN VILLAGE.By Edith Hawkins.On the borders of the Tyrol and the lovely district known as the "Bavarian Highlands," there is a quaint little village called "Mittenwald," which at first sight appears shut in by lofty mountains as by some great and insurmountable barrier. The villagers are a simple, industrious people, chiefly occupied in the manufacture of stringed musical... more...

Who killed Cock Robin?With my bow and arrow,I, said the Sparrow,I kill'd Cock Robin.Who saw him die?With my little eye,I, said the Fly,I saw him die.Who caught his blood?With my little dish,I, said the Fish,I caught his blood.Who'll make his shroud?With my thread and needle,I, said the Beetle,I'll make his shroud.Who'll dig his grave?With my spade and trowel,I, said the Owl,I'll... more...

CHAPTER I. THE BIRTH OF AN IDEA. Sunk far back in the huge leather cushions of his morris chair, old Isaac Flint was thinking, thinking hard. Between narrowed lids, his hard, gray eyes were blinking at the morning sunlight that poured into his private office, high up in the great building he had reared on Wall Street. From his thin lips now and then issued a coil of smoke from the costly cigar he was... more...

SOUPS. GENERAL REMARKS. Always use soft water for making soup, and be careful to proportion the quantity of water to that of the meat. Somewhat less than a quart of water to a pound of meat, is a good rule for common soups. Rich soups, intended for company, may have a still smaller allowance of water. Soup should always be made entirely of fresh meat that has not been previously cooked. An exception to... more...

CHAPTER I. JOPPA. Joppa was the very centre of all things. That was the opening clause in the creed of every well-educated and right-thinking Joppite. Geographically, however, it was not the centre of any thing, being considerably off from the great lines of railway travel, but possessing two little independent branch roads of its own, that connected it with all the world, or rather that connected all... more...

CHAPTER I. I am no visionary—no dreamer; and yet my life has been a ceaseless struggle between the realities of everyday care, and a myriad of shadowy phantoms which ever haunt me. In the crowded and thronged city; in the green walks and sunny forests of my native hills; on the broad and boundless prairie, carpeted with velvet flowers; on the blue and dreamy sea—it is the same. I look around, and... more...