INTRODUCTION Strindberg's great trilogy The Road to Damascus presents many mysteries to the uninitiated. Its peculiar changes of mood, its gallery of half unreal characters, its bizarre episodes combine to make it a bewilderingly rich but rather 'difficult' work. It cannot be recommended to the lover of light drama or the seeker of momentary distraction. The Road to Damascus does not... more...

SNOW-BOUND. A WINTER IDYL. TO THE MEMORY OF THE HOUSEHOLD IT DESCRIBES, THIS POEM IS DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR. The inmates of the family at the Whittier homestead who are referred to in the poem were my father, mother, my brother and two sisters, and my uncle and aunt both unmarried. In addition, there was the district school-master who boarded with us. The "not unfeared, half-welcome guest" was... more...

It was Madame who first entered the box, and Madame was bright with youthful bloom, bright with jewels, and, moreover, a beauty. She was a little creature, with childishly large eyes, a low, white forehead, reddish-brown hair, and Greek nose and mouth. "Clearly," remarked the old lady in the box opposite, "not a Frenchwoman. Her youth is too girlish, and she has too petulant an air of... more...

CHAPTER I FOR reasons of my own, I excused myself from accompanying my stepmother to a dinner-party given in our neighborhood. In my present humor, I preferred being alone—and, as a means of getting through my idle time, I was quite content to be occupied in catching insects. Provided with a brush and a mixture of rum and treacle, I went into Fordwitch Wood to set the snare, familiar to hunters of... more...

CHAPTER I.   I was born September 17th, 1838, in the town of Penryn, County of Cornwall, England, and was educated at the national and private schools. When my education was sufficiently advanced, I was apprenticed to learn the trade of carpenter and joiner. My father was a paper-maker, and lived all his lifetime in the town. He was a strict teetotaler, and brought up his family, four boys and one... more...

CHAPTER I THE FACE OF HATE It was three o'clock in the morning. Along a deserted pavement of Riverside Drive strode briskly a young man whose square-set shoulders and erect poise suggested a military training. His coat, thrown carelessly open to the cold night wind, displayed an expanse of white indicative of evening dress. As he walked his heels clicked sharply on the concrete with the forceful... more...

WHY AND WHEREFORE When over eighty years of age, the poet Bryant said that he had added more than ten years to his life by taking a simple exercise while dressing in the morning. Those who knew Bryant and the facts of his life never doubted the truth of this statement. I have made inquiries lately among men who are eighty years of age, as to their method of waking up. Almost without exception, I find... more...

CHAPTER I. CALDERWELL DOES SOME TALKING Calderwell had met Mr. M. J. Arkwright in London through a common friend; since then they had tramped half over Europe together in a comradeship that was as delightful as it was unusual. As Calderwell put it in a letter to his sister, Belle: "We smoke the same cigar and drink the same tea (he's just as much of an old woman on that subject as I am!), and... more...

LECTURE I.WESTMINSTER ABBEY. Reverence for age, at least so it has long seemed to me, reverence for age, I say, is a fair test of the vigour of youth; and, conversely, insolence toward the old and the past, whether in individuals or in nations, is a sign rather of weakness than of strength.  And the cause, I think, is this.  The rich and strong young natures, which feel themselves capable of original... more...

1. Jesus chako kopa Saghalie, (Repeat twice.) Jesus hias kloshe. Jesus wawa kopa tillikums, (Repeat twice.) Jesus hias kloshe. 2. Jesus wawa wake kliminiwhit, Jesus hias kloshe. Jesus wawa wake kapswalla. Jesus hias kloshe. 3. Kopa nika Jesus mimaloose, Jesus hias kloshe. Jesus klatawa kopa Saghalie, Jesus hias kloshe. 4. Alta Jesus mitlite kopa Saghalie, Jesus hias kloshe. Yaka Jesus tikegh nika... more...