SONG THE FIRST. Up Riber’s street the dance they ply,   The Castle’s won, the Castle’s won!There dance the knights most merrily,   For young King Erik Erikson. On Riber’s bridge the dance it goes,   The Castle’s won, the Castle’s won!There dance the knights in scollop’d shoes,   For young King Erik Erikson. ’Twas Riber Wolf the dance who led,   The Castle’s won, the... more...

orrible though the civil war was, heartrending though it was that brother should fight against brother, there remains as an offset the glory that has accrued to the nation by the countless deeds of heroism performed by both sides in the struggle. The captains and the armies who after long years of dreary campaigning and bloody, stubborn lighting brought the war to a close have left us more than a... more...

CHAPTER I. A ROUGH START IN LIFE. To attempt to write and publish sketches of my somewhat eventful career is an act that, I fear, entails the risk of making enemies of some with whom I have come in contact. But I have arrived at that time of life when, while respecting, as I do, public opinion, I have hardened somewhat into indifference of censure. I will, however, endeavour to write as far as lies in... more...

CHAPTER ONE Philip Weyman's buoyancy of heart was in face of the fact that he had but recently looked upon Radisson's unpleasant death, and that he was still in a country where the water flowed north. He laughed and he sang. His heart bubbled over with cheer. He talked to himself frankly and without embarrassment, asked himself questions, answered them, discussed the beauties of nature and... more...

CHAPTER I. THE POLAR SHIP. "Oh, it's southward ho, where the breezes blow; we're off for the pole, yo, ho! heave ho!" "Is that you, Harry?" asked a lad of about seventeen, without looking up from some curious-looking frames and apparatus over which he was working in the garage workshop back of his New York home on Madison Avenue. "Ay! ay! my hearty," responded his... more...

CHAPTER I Natalie Spencer was giving a dinner. She was not an easy hostess. Like most women of futile lives she lacked a sense of proportion, and the small and unimportant details of the service absorbed her. Such conversation as she threw at random, to right and left, was trivial and distracted. Yet the dinner was an unimportant one. It had been given with an eye more to the menu than to the guest... more...

I SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF THE PERSIAN POET SAADI—CHARACTER OF HIS WRITINGS—THE “GULISTÁN”—PREFACES TO BOOKS—PREFACE TO THE “GULISTÁN”—EASTERN POETS IN PRAISE OF SPRINGTIDE. It is remarkable how very little the average general reader knows regarding the great Persian poet SaádГѓ­ and his writings. His name is perhaps more or less familiar to casual readers from its being... more...

It is not that I see any reason to alter my opinion in any thing I have writ, which occasions this epistle; but I find it necessary for the satisfaction of some persons of honour, as well as wit, to pass a short explication upon it; and tell the world what I mean, or rather, what I do not mean, in some things wherein I find I am liable to be misunderstood. I confess myself something surpris'd to... more...

April 26, 1916. General Villa, in pursuit of whom a United States army has already penetrated four hundred miles into Mexico, is alleged to have died. It is not considered likely, however, that he will escape as easily as all that. "Germans net the Sound," says a recent issue of a contemporary. We don't know what profit they will get out of it, but we ourselves in these hard times are only... more...

NCE upon a time there was a beautiful Princess named Fleurette, who lived in a white marble palace on the top of a high hill. The Princess Fleurette was very fond of flowers, and all around the palace, from the very gates thereof, a fair garden, full of all kinds of wonderful plants, sloped down to the foot of the hill, where it was snugly inclosed with a high marble wall. Thus the hill was like a... more...