INTRODUCTION Niccolo Machiavelli, the first great Italian historian, and one of the most eminent political writers of any age or country, was born at Florence, May 3, 1469. He was of an old though not wealthy Tuscan family, his father, who was a jurist, dying when Niccolo was sixteen years old. We know nothing of Machiavelli's youth and little about his studies. He does not seem to have received... more...

INTRODUCTION The Life of a Day. ' am at my farm; and, since my last misfortunes, have not been in Florence twenty days. I spent September in snaring thrushes; but at the end of the month, even this rather tiresome sport failed me. I rise with the sun, and go into a wood of mine that is being cut, where I remain two hours inspecting the work of the previous day and conversing with the woodcutters,... more...

CHAPTER I.   think I'll get out here, young man." "All right, missus." The old carrier stopped his jolting cart—an easy thing to do, for the wearied horse was glad of the chance of halting—and the passenger leisurely descended. With her descended also a bulging umbrella and numerous packages. "Good night, young man!" she exclaimed. She thought this a very polite way of... more...

THE EVERGREEN RIVER ON THE RAMPAGE "What's the latest weather report down at the post office, Max?" "More rain coming, they say, and everybody is as gloomy as a funeral." "My stars! the poor old town of Carson is getting a heavy dose this spring, for a fact; nothing but rain, rain, and then some more rain." "Never was anything to beat it, Bandy-legs, and they say even... more...

I Ferdinand Foch was born at Tarbes on October 2, 1851. His father, of good old Pyrenean stock and modest fortune, was a provincial official whose office corresponded to that of secretary of state for one of our commonwealths. So the family lived in Tarbes, the capital of the department called the Upper Pyrénées. The mother of Ferdinand was Sophie Dupré, born at Argèles, twenty miles south of... more...

In an old world garden dreaming,Where the flowers had human names,Methought, in fantastic seeming,They disported as squires and dames. Of old in Rosamond's Bower,With it's peacock hedges of yew,One could never find the flowerUnless one was given the clue;So take the key of the wicket,Who would follow my fancy free,By formal knot and clipt thicket,And smooth greensward so fair to see And while... more...

Reader, Some Authors are so fond of a Preface, that they will write one tho’ there be nothing more in it than an Apology for its self.  But to show thee that I am not one of those, I will make no Apology for this, but do tell thee that I think it necessary to be prefix’d to this Trifle, to prevent thy overlooking some little pains which I have taken in the Composition of the following Story. ... more...

RUFUS MERRILL.I love the flowers, the fragrant flowers!They’re fairy things to me;They seem like angels sent to bless,And teach of purity. MY FLOWER-POT.There is beauty in flowersWhen kissed by the showersThat fall in the bowersOf gardens so fair,When music is tellingIn notes that are swelling,And love is excelling,Aloft in the air.Birds now are singing,Deep valleys are ringing,And harmony... more...

CHAPTER I. The Appalling News. On the advent of Summer, June 1st, the country was horror-stricken by the announcement that a terrible calamity had overtaken the inhabitants of Johnstown, and the neighboring villages. Instantly the whole land was stirred by the startling news of this great disaster. Its appalling magnitude, its dreadful suddenness, its scenes of terror and agony, the fate of thousands... more...

INTRODUCTION The successful garden has a permanent basis. There must be some flowers that appear year after year, whose position is fixed and whose appearance can be counted on. The group classed as perennials occupies this position and about flowers of this class is arranged all the various array of annuals and bulbs. These last act as reinforcements in rounding out the garden scheme. Perennials are... more...