CHAPTER I WHICH IS A PROLOGUE The woman lying huddled on the couch turned her face to the wall and covered it with her hands in a burst of uncontrollable horror. "Oh, that dreadful light!" she moaned. "If it would only go out! It will send me mad. Oh, if it would only go out—only go out!" Her companion made no immediate answer. She stood by the wall, her shoulders slightly hunched,... more...

They had all known him as a shiftless, worthless creature. From the time he first entered Redwood Camp, carrying his entire effects in a red handkerchief on the end of a long-handled shovel, until he lazily drifted out of it on a plank in the terrible inundation of '56, they never expected anything better of him. In a community of strong men with sullen virtues and charmingly fascinating vices, he... more...

I. ALL ELECTIONS BEGIN WITH A BUSTLE Before beginning to describe an election in the provinces, it is proper to state that the town of Arcis-sur-Aube was not the theatre of the events here related. The arrondissement of Arcis votes at Bar-sur-Aube, which is forty miles from Arcis; consequently there is no deputy from Arcis in the Chamber. Discretion, required in a history of contemporaneous manners and... more...

The fine charter with which France had presumably closed the revolutionary epoch, in order to live for the first time under a constitutional government, was about to display its fatal weakness in the production of a deadlock. This possibility had been clearly foreseen by acute observers, since there was no provision for the control of one arm of the government by the other, and in any working system... more...

History repeats itself, but on new planes. Often, a symbol appears in one age, and the spirit of which it is the expression is revealed in another. Each answers the need of its own time. From the creative standpoint, which is out of time, spirit and symbol are one; but to us, who see things successively, they seem as prior and posterior. If this be so, it should be possible for a thoughtful and... more...

His real name is Wallace, but his mates always called him "Wally," and although he is now a big broad-shouldered young mariner, he is still pointed out as the "wreck-boy." One summer not long ago Wally sailed with me for a week out upon the blue waters across the bar after blue-fish, or among the winding tide-water creeks for sheep's-head, and it was then, by means of many... more...

Mr. Pettijohn, now ninety-five years old, clear in memory, patriarchial in looks, says: I came to what is now Minnesota, but was then a part of Wisconsin Territory April sixteenth, 1841. I was on my way to work for the Williamsons, missionaries, at Lac qui Parle. I landed from the large steamer, the Alhambra, at the Fort Snelling landing. I climbed the steep path that led up to the fort, circled the... more...

INTRODUCTION Critics are of three classes:—the laudatory, who, if they see anything to complain of, make no complaint; the severe, who, if they see anything deserving commendation, say nothing about it; and the discriminating, who see both and say it, and at the same time throw out hints which as a rule are both acceptable and helpful. Particularly is this the case when the advice tendered confirms a... more...

Introduction—The African Association—Ledyard—Lucas—First information respecting the Niger, or Quorra, and the Gambia—Timbuctoo heard of—Thompson and Jobson’s voyage up the Gambia—Major Haughton’s expedition and death. When the fathers of the present generation were young men, and George the Third ruled the land, they imagined that the whole interior of Africa was one howling... more...

The Curate Grows Suspicious; and Takes his Stick. “Do what, miss?” said Dally Watlock. “That! There, you did it again.” “La, miss; I on’y thought my face might be a bit smudgy, and I wiped it.” “Don’t tell me a falsehood, Dally. I know what it means. You felt guilty, and your face burned.” “La, miss; I don’t know what you mean.” “Then I’ll tell you, Dally. You are growing... more...