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It was a beautiful summer morning, and Rodney was out of his bed at six o'clock. He usually went for a walk before going to his studio, and this morning his walk had been a very pleasant one, for yesterday's work had gone well with him. But as he turned into the mews in...
The Antiquity of Man was published in 1863, and ran into a third edition in the course of that year.The cause of this is not far to seek. Darwin's Origin of Species appeared in 1859, only four years earlier, and rapidly had its effect in drawing attention to the great...
THIS beginning-part is not made out of anybody's head, you know. It's real. You must believe this beginning-part more than what comes after, else you won't understand how what comes after came to be written. You must believe it all; but you must believe this most,...
CHARLESTON, SEPTEMBER 27th, 1869. - It is high tide, and three o'clock in the afternoon when we leave the Battery-quay; the ebb carries us off shore, and as Captain Huntly has hoisted both main and top sails, the northerly breeze drives the Chancellor briskly across the...
Mrs. Rachel Sutton was a born match maker, and she had cultivated the gift by diligent practice. As the sight of a tendrilled vine suggests the need and fitness of a trellis, and a stray glove invariably brings to mind the thought of its absent fellow, so every...
"I heard a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sate reclined; In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind.
There were two ways by which one could get to the Old Stone Mill. One, from the sideroad by a lane which, edged with grassy, flower- decked banks, wound between snake fences, along which straggled irregular clumps of hazel and blue beech, dogwood and thorn bushes, and...
Light, entering the vast room - a room so high that its carved ceiling refused itself to exact scrutiny - travelled, with the wistful, cold curiosity of the dawn, over a fantastic storehouse of Time.Light, unaccompanied by the prejudice of human eyes, made strange...
Oceana: the Naturewoman. Mrs. Sophronia Masterson: of Beacon Street, Boston. Quincy Masterson, M.D.: her husband. Freddy Masterson: her son. Ethel Masterson: her younger daughter. Mrs. Letitia Selden: her elder daughter. Henry Selden: Letitia's husband. Remson: a...
Another classic converted by eBooksLib.com.
Over the great windy waters, and over the clear-crested summits
Rebecca Mary took another stitch. Then another. Ninety-sevvun, ninety-eight, she counted aloud, her little pointed face gravely intent. She waited the briefest possible space before she took ninety-nine. It was getting very close to the Time now. At the hundred an'...
Penrod sat morosely upon the back fence and gazed with envy at Duke, his wistful dog.
You do very well, my friends, to treat me with some little reverence, for in honouring me you are honouring both France and yourselves. It is not merely an old, grey-moustached officer whom you see eating his omelette or draining his glass, but it is a fragment of...
There was no air of uncertainty upon the handsome countenance of Mr. Randall Clayton as he stepped out of the elevator of a sedate Fourteenth Street business building and approvingly sniffed the April morning breeze.
In the fall of 1890 Dr. George Vasey, then Botanist of the Department of Agriculture, arranged with me to prepare a revision of North American Cactaceae. Owing to the peculiar difficulty of preserving material the family was poorly represented, even in our leading...
It was half-past four o'clock (by the testimony of the land-surveyor, my authority for the particulars of this story, a gentleman with the faintest curve of humour on his lips); it was half-past four o'clock on a May morning in the eighteen forties. A dense white fog...
A story of mine called, like this, The Woman-Haters, appeared recently in one of the magazines. That story was not this one, except in part - the part dealing with John Brown and Miss Ruth Graham. Readers of the former tale who perhaps imagine they know all about Seth...
I am going to tell a story, one of those tales of astonishing adventures that happened years and years and years ago. Perhaps you wonder why it is that so many stories are told of once on a time, and so few of these days in which we live; but that is easily explained.
It seems impossible to separate by any exact line the genuine writings of Plato from the spurious. The only external evidence to them which is of much value is that of Aristotle; for the Alexandrian catalogues of a century later include manifest forgeries. Even the...
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