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To begin a story of this kind at the beginning is hard; for when the beginning may have been, no man knows. Perhaps it was a hundred years ago - perhaps a thousand - perhaps ten thousand; and it may well be, yet longer ago, even, than that. Yet it can be told that John...
I think that my best apology for the insignificant size of this volume is the very character of the material composing it. In preparing the legendsI sought especially for weird beauty; andI could not forget this striking observation in Sir Walter Scott's Essay on...
The last word of this novel was written on 29 May 1914. And that last word was the single word of the title.
Cold winter lay deep in the Canadian wilderness. Over it the moon was rising, like a red pulsating ball, lighting up the vast white silence of the night in a shimmering glow. Not a sound broke the stillness of the desolation. It was too late for the life of day, too...
It is queer, but Captain Cy himself doesn't remember whether the day was Tuesday or Wednesday. Asaph Tidditt's records ought to settle it, for there was a meeting of the board of selectmen that day, and Asaph has been town clerk in Bayport since the summer before the...
Two years before the mast were but an episode in the life of Richard Henry Dana, Jr.; yet the narrative in which he details the experiences of that period is, perhaps, his chief claim to a wide remembrance. His services in other than literary fields occupied the greater...
I WAS born in the year 1632, in the city of York, of a good family, though not of that country, my father being a foreigner of Bremen, who settled first at Hull. He got a good estate by merchandise, and leaving off his trade, lived afterwards at York, from whence he had...
I cannot forego my usual opportunity of saying farewell to my readers in this greetingplace, thoughI have only to acknowledge the unbounded warmth and earnestness of their sympathy in every stage of the journey we have just concluded....
There are some of us now reaching middle age who discover themselves to be lamenting the past in one respect if in none other, that there are no books written now for children comparable with those of thirty years ago. I say written FOR children because the new...
A room behind the shop in Old Bagdad. In the background a large caldron steaming, for the shop is a sweet-stuff shop and the sugar is boiling. The room has little furniture beyond the carpet, old but unexpectedly choice, and some Persian hangings (geometrical designs,...
In the ancient days, when the first quiver of speech came to my lips, I ascended the holy mountain and spoke unto God, saying, Master, I am thy slave. Thy hidden will is my law and I shall obey thee for ever more.
In the matter of general culture and attainments, we youngsters stood on pretty level ground. True, it was always happening that one of us would be singled out at any moment, freakishly, and without regard to his own preferences, to wrestle with the inflections of some...
Exception has been taken to the title of this seeming tomfoolery on the ground that the Catherine it represents is not Great Catherine, but the Catherine whose gallantries provide some of the lightest pages of modern history. Great Catherine, it is said, was the...
I begin this way because it is the proper, orthodox, respectable way to begin, andI have been brought up in a proper, orthodox, respectable way, and taught to always do the proper, orthodox, respectable thing; and the habit clings to me....
The inducement to be sympathetic in writing a preface to a book like this is naturally very great.The authoress was of Indian blood, and lived the life of the Indian on the Iroquois Reserve with her chieftain father and her white mother for many years; and though she...
The Editor thinks that children will readily forgive him for publishing another Fairy Book. We have had the Blue, the Red, the Green, and here is the Yellow. If children are pleased, and they are so kind as to say that they are pleased, the Editor does not care very...
Achilles Alexandrakis was arranging the fruit on his stall in front of his little shop on Clark Street. It was a clear, breezy morning, cool for October, but not cold enough to endanger the fruit thatAchilles handled so deftly in his dark, slender fingers. As he built...
Why, what's the matter, child? Tell me.
THE following sketch was written for the young, at the suggestion of friends.
This little story I have translated from the French of Mademoiselle Montgolfier. If children enjoy it as much as I have, and think it as pretty, they will not regret that I have preferred it to any thing I could write for them.
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