ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Youth, by Joseph ConradThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhereat no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under theterms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle:YouthAuthor: Joseph ConradRelease Date: May 1996 [EBook #525]Posting Date: June 18,2009Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK YOUTH ***Produced by JudithBoss and David WidgerYOUTHA NARRATIVEBy Joseph Conrad  "... But the Dwarf answered: No;something human is dearer to me  than the wealth of all the world." GRIMM'S TALES.TO MYWIFEYOUTHThis could have occurred nowhere but in England, where men and seainterpenetrate, so tospeak--the sea entering into the life of most men,and the men knowing something or everything aboutthe sea, in the way ofamusement, of travel, or of bread-winning.We were sitting round a mahogany tablethat reflected the bottle, theclaret-glasses, and our faces as we leaned on our elbows. There wasadirector of companies, an accountant, a lawyer, Marlow, and myself. Thedirector had been a _Conway_boy, the accountant had served four years atsea, the lawyer--a fine crusted Tory, High Churchman, thebest of oldfellows, the soul of honour--had been chief officer in the P. & O.service in the good old dayswhen mail-boats were square-rigged at leaston two masts, and used to come down the China Sea beforea fair monsoonwith stun'-sails set alow and aloft. We all began life in the merchantservice. Between thefive of us there was the strong bond of the sea,and also the fellowship of the craft, which no amount ofenthusiasm foryachting, cruising, and so on can give, since one is only the amusementof life and theother is life itself.Marlow (at least I think that is how he spelt his name) told the story,or rather thechronicle, of a voyage:"Yes, I have seen a little of the Eastern seas; but what I remember bestis my firstvoyage there. You fellows know there are those voyages thatseem ordered for the illustration of life, thatmight stand for a symbolof existence. You fight, work, sweat, nearly kill yourself, sometimes dokillyourself, trying to accomplish something--and you can't. Notfrom any fault of yours. You simply can donothing, neither great norlittle--not a thing in the world--not even marry an old maid, or get awretched600-ton cargo of coal to its port of destination."It was altogether a memorable affair. It was my firstvoyage to theEast, and my first voyage as second mate; it was also my skipper's firstcommand. You'lladmit it was time. He was sixty if a day; a little man,with a broad, not very straight back, with bowedshoulders and one legmore bandy than the other, he had that queer twisted-about appearanceyou see sooften in men who work in the fields. He had a nut-crackerface--chin and nose trying to come togetherover a sunken mouth--and itwas framed in iron-grey fluffy hair, that looked like a chin strapofcotton-wool sprinkled with coal-dust. And he had blue eyes in thatold face of his, which were amazinglylike a boy's, with that candidexpression some quite common men preserve to the end of their days byarare internal gift of simplicity of heart and rectitude of soul.What induced him to accept me was a wonder.I had come out of a crackAustralian clipper, where I had been third officer, and he seemed tohave aprejudice against crack clippers as aristocratic and high-toned.He said to me, 'You know, in this ship youwill have to work.' I saidI had to work in every ship I had ever been in. 'Ah, but this isdifferent, and yougentlemen out of them big ships;... but there! Idare say you will do. Join to-morrow.'"I joined to-morrow.It was twenty-two years ago; and I was just twenty.How time passes! It was one of the happiest days ofmy life. Fancy!Second mate for the first time--a really responsible officer! I wouldn'thave thrown up mynew billet for a fortune. The mate looked me overcarefully. He was also an old chap, but of anotherstamp. He had a Romannose, a snow-white, long beard, and his name was Mahon, but he insistedthat itshould be pronounced Mann. He was well connected; yet there wassomething wrong with his luck, and hehad never got on."As to the captain, he had been for years in coasters, then in theMediterranean, andlast in the West Indian trade. He had never beenround the Capes. He could just write a kind of sketchyhand, and didn'tcare for writing at all. Both were thorough good seamen of course,and between thosetwo old chaps I felt like a small boy between twograndfathers."The ship also was old. Her name was the_Judea_. Queer name, isn't it?She belonged to a man Wilmer, Wilcox--some name like that; but hehasbeen bankrupt and dead these twenty years or more, and his name don'tmatter. She had been laid up


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Way of the World, by William CongreveThis eBook is for the use ofanyone anywhere in the United States and mostother parts of the world at no cost and with almost norestrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms ofthe ProjectGutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in theUnited States, you'll haveto check the laws of the country where you are located before using thisebook.Title: The Way of the World       A ComedyAuthor: William CongreveRelease Date: January 25,2015  [eBook #1292][This file was first posted on March 26, 1998]Language: EnglishCharacter setencoding: UTF-8***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WAY OF THEWORLD***Transcribed from the 1895 Methuen & Co. edition (_Comedies of WilliamCongreve_, _Volume_2) by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org                           THE WAY OF THEWORLD                                 A COMEDY    _Audire est operÃ¦ pretium_, _procedere recte_    _QuimÃ¦chis non vultis_.âHOR. _Sat._ i. 2, 37.    â_Metuat doti deprensa_.â_Ibid_.TO THE RIGHTHONOURABLERALPH, EARL OF MOUNTAGUE, ETC.MY LORD,âWhether the world will arraign me ofvanity or not, that I havepresumed to dedicate this comedy to your lordship, I am yet in doubt;though, itmay be, it is some degree of vanity even to doubt of it.  Onewho has at any time had the honour of yourlordshipâs conversation,cannot be supposed to think very meanly of that which he would prefertoyour perusal.  Yet it were to incur the imputation of too muchsufficiency to pretend to such a merit asmight abide the test of yourlordshipâs censure.Whatever value may be wanting to this play while yetit is mine, will besufficiently made up to it when it is once become your lordshipâs; and itis mysecurity, that I cannot have overrated it more by my dedicationthan your lordship will dignify it by yourpatronage.That it succeeded on the stage was almost beyond my expectation; for butlittle of it wasprepared for that general taste which seems now to bepredominant in the palates of our audience.Thosecharacters which are meant to be ridiculed in most of our comediesare of fools so gross, that in myhumble opinion they should ratherdisturb than divert the well-natured and reflecting part of anaudience;they are rather objects of charity than contempt, and instead of movingour mirth, they oughtvery often to excite our compassion.This reflection moved me to design some characters which shouldappearridiculous not so much through a natural folly (which is incorrigible,and therefore not proper forthe stage) as through an affected wit: a witwhich, at the same time that it is affected, is also false.  Asthere issome difficulty in the formation of a character of this nature, so thereis some hazard whichattends the progress of its success upon the stage:for many come to a play so overcharged with criticism,that they veryoften let fly their censure, when through their rashness they havemistaken their aim.  ThisI had occasion lately to observe: for this playhad been acted two or three days before some of thesehasty judges couldfind the leisure to distinguish betwixt the character of a Witwoud and aTruewit.I mustbeg your lordshipâs pardon for this digression from the truecourse of this epistle; but that it may notseem altogether impertinent,I beg that I may plead the occasion of it, in part of that excuse ofwhich Istand in need, for recommending this comedy to your protection.It is only by the countenance of yourlordship, and the _few_ soqualified, that such who write with care and pains can hope to bedistinguished:for the prostituted name of poet promiscuously levels allthat bear it.Terence, the most correct writer inthe world, had a Scipio and a Lelius,if not to assist him, at least to support him in hisreputation.  Andnotwithstanding his extraordinary merit, it may be their countenance wasnot more thannecessary.The purity of his style, the delicacy of his turns, and the justness ofhis characters, were all ofthem beauties which the greater part of hisaudience were incapable of tasting.  Some of the coarseststrokes ofPlautus, so severely censured by Horace, were more likely to affect themultitude; such, whocome with expectation to laugh at the last act of aplay, and are better entertained with two or threeunseasonable jeststhan with the artful solution of the fable.As Terence excelled in his performances, sohad he great advantages toencourage his undertakings, for he built most on the foundations ofMenander:his plots were generally modelled, and his characters readydrawn to his hand.  He copied Menander; andMenander had no less light inthe formation of his characters from the observations of Theophrastus,


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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Godfrey Morgan, by Jules VerneThis eBook is for the use of anyoneanywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: Godfrey Morgan       A Californian MysteryAuthor: Jules VerneRelease Date:November 15, 2007 [EBook #23489]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERGEBOOK GODFREY MORGAN ***Produced by Taavi Kalju, Martin Pettit and the OnlineDistributedProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously madeavailableby The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)GODFREY MORGANA CALIFORNIANMYSTERYBYJULES VERNEILLUSTRATED_AUTHOR'S COPYRIGHT EDITION_LONDON: SAMPSON LOW,MARSTON & COMPANY, _Limited_.[Illustration: "Going! Going!" _page 15_]CONTENTS.CHAPTERI.                                                                PAGEIn which the reader has the opportunity of buying anIsland inthe Pacific Ocean                                                  1CHAPTER II.How William W. Kolderup, ofSan Francisco, was at loggerheadswith J. R. Taskinar, of Stockton                                  11CHAPTERIII.The conversation of Phina Hollaney and Godfrey Morgan, witha pianoaccompaniment                                             24CHAPTER IV.In which T. Artelett, otherwise Tartlet, isduly introducedto the reader                                                     35CHAPTER V.In which they prepare togo, and at the end of which they gofor good                                                          43CHAPTER VI.Inwhich the reader makes the acquaintance of a new personage     53CHAPTER VII.In which it will be seenthat William W. Kolderup was probablyright in insuring his ship                                        62CHAPTERVIII.Which leads Godfrey to bitter reflections on the maniafortravelling                                                        77CHAPTER IX.In which it is shown that Crusoes donot have everything asthey wish                                                         91CHAPTER X.In which Godfreydoes what any other shipwrecked man wouldhave done under thecircumstances                                104CHAPTER XI.In which the question of lodging is solved as well asitcould be                                                         117CHAPTER XII.Which ends with athunder-bolt                                   129CHAPTER XIII.In which Godfrey again sees a slight smoke overanother partof the Island                                                    143CHAPTER XIV.Wherein Godfrey findssome wreckage, to which he and hiscompanion give a heartywelcome                                  155CHAPTER XV.In which there happens what happens at least once inthe lifeof every Crusoe, real or imaginary                               167CHAPTER XVI.In which somethinghappens which cannot fail to surprise thereader                                                           179CHAPTERXVII.In which Professor Tartlet's gun really does marvels             190CHAPTER XVIII.Which treats of themoral and physical education of a simplenative of the Pacific                                            203CHAPTERXIX.In which the situation already gravely compromised becomesmore and morecomplicated                                        216CHAPTER XX.In which Tartlet reiterates in every key that hewould ratherbe off                                                           228CHAPTER XXI.Which ends with quite asurprising reflection by the negroCarefinotu                                                       242CHAPTERXXII.Which concludes by explaining what up to now hadappearedinexplicable                                                     260GODFREY MORGAN.CHAPTER I.IN WHICHTHE READER HAS THE OPPORTUNITY OF BUYING AN ISLAND IN THEPACIFIC OCEAN."An island to sell,for cash, to the highest bidder!" said Dean Felporg,the auctioneer, standing behind his rostrum in theroom where theconditions of the singular sale were being noisily discussed."Island for sale! island forsale!" repeated in shrill tones again andagain Gingrass, the crier, who was threading his way in and out oftheexcited crowd closely packed inside the largest saloon in the auctionmart at No. 10, SacramentoStreet.The crowd consisted not only of a goodly number of Americans from theStates of Utah, Oregon,and California, but also of a few Frenchmen, whoform quite a sixth of the population.Mexicans were thereenveloped in their sarapes; Chinamen in theirlarge-sleeved tunics, pointed shoes, and conical hats; oneor twoKanucks from the coast; and even a sprinkling of Black Feet,Grosventres, or Flatheads, from the


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Comrades, by Thomas DixonThis eBook is for the use of anyoneanywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: Comrades       A Story of Social Adventure in CaliforniaAuthor: ThomasDixonIllustrator: C. D. WilliamsRelease Date: March 1, 2011 [EBook #35447]Language: English***START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COMRADES ***Produced by David Edwards, JeannieHowse and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced fromimages generously made availableby The InternetArchive)       *       *       *       *       *    +-----------------------------------------------------------+    |Transcriber's Note:                                       |    |                                                           |    |Inconsistent hyphenation in the original document has     |    | beenpreserved.                                           |    |                                                           |    | Obvioustypographical errors have been corrected. For     |    | a complete list, please see the end of this document.     |    |                                                           |    +-----------------------------------------------------------+       *       *       *       *       *Comrades[Illustration]Thomas Dixon JR.    [Illustration: NORMANCLASPED HER IN HIS ARMS.]  COMRADES  _A STORY OF SOCIAL ADVENTURE  INCALIFORNIA_  BY  THOMAS DIXON, Jr.  Illustrated by  C.D. WILLIAMS  [Illustration]  GROSSET &DUNLAP  Publishers  ::  New York  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION  INTOFOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN  COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY THOMAS DIXON,JR.  PUBLISHED, JANUARY, 1909  DEDICATED TO  THE DEAREST LITTLE  GIRL IN THE WORLD, MYDAUGHTER  LOUISECONTENTSCHAPTER                                                      PAGE       I. The Woman inRed                                      3      II. A New Joan of Arc                                    19     III. The Birth of aMan                                   31      IV. Among the Shadows                                    37       V. The Islandof Ventura                                48      VI. The Red Flag                                         56     VII. Father andSon                                       73    VIII. Through the Eyes of Love                             85      IX. A FadedPicture                                      90       X. Son and Father                                       93      XI. The Wayof a Woman                                  103     XII. A Royal Gift                                        105    XIII. TheBurning of the Bridges                          110     XIV. The NewWorld                                       118      XV. For the Cause                                       123     XVI.Barbara Chooses a Profession                        130    XVII. A Call forHeroes                                   134   XVIII. A New Aristocracy                                   151     XIX. SomeTroubles in Heaven                             166      XX. TheUnconventional                                  181     XXI. A Pair of Cold GrayEyes                            186    XXII. The Fighting Instinct                               192   XXIII. The CordsTighten                                   207    XXIV. Some Interrogation Points                           212     XXV.The Master Hand                                     224    XXVI. At the Parting of theWays                          235   XXVII. The Fruits of Patience                              246  XXVIII. The NewMaster                                      257    XXIX. A Test of Strength                                  269     XXX. AVision from the Hilltop                           274    XXXI. In Love andWar                                     283   XXXII. A Primitive Lover                                   291  XXXIII.Equality                                            295   XXXIV. A Brother to theBeast                              306    XXXV. Love and Locksmiths                                 313   XXXVI. TheShining Emblem                                  318LEADING CHARACTERS OF THE STORY_Scene_: California._Time_: 1898-1901  NORMAN WORTH            An Amateur Socialist  COLONEL WORTH           HisFather  ELENA STOCKTON          The Colonel's Ward  HERMAN WOLF             A SocialistLeader  CATHERINE               His Affinity Wife  BARBARA BOZENTA         A New Joan of Arc  METHODISTJOHN          A Pauper  TOM MOONEY              A Miner  JOHN DIGGS              A Truth Seeker  ROLANDADAIR            Bard of RamcatILLUSTRATIONS  "Norman clasped her in his


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Iola Leroy, by Frances E.W. HarperThis eBook is for the use of anyoneanywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.netTitle: Iola Leroy       Shadows UpliftedAuthor: Frances E.W. HarperRelease Date: May14, 2004 [EBook #12352]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IOLALEROY ***Produced by Suzanne Shell and PG Distributed ProofreadersIOLA LEROY,ORSHADOWSUPLIFTED.BYFRANCES E.W. HARPER.1893, PhiladelphiaTO MY DAUGHTERMARY E. HARPER,THIS BOOK ISLOVINGLY DEDICATED.INTRODUCTION.I confess when I first learned that Mrs. Harper was about to write"astory" on some features of the Anglo-African race, growing out of whatwas once popularly known as the"peculiar institution," I had my doubtsabout the matter. Indeed it was far from being easy for me to thinkthatshe was as fortunate as she might have been in selecting a subject whichwould afford her the bestopportunity for bringing out a work of meritand lasting worth to the race--such a work as some of herpersonalfriends have long desired to see from her graphic pen. However, afterhearing a good portion ofthe manuscript read, and a general statementwith regard to the object in view, I admit frankly that mypartialindifference was soon swept away; at least I was willing to wait forfurther developments.Being verydesirous that one of the race, so long distinguished in thecause of freedom for her intellectual worth asMrs. Harper has had thehonor of being, should not at this late date in life make a blunderwhich mightdetract from her own good name, I naturally proposed toawait developments before deciding too quicklyin favor of givingencouragement to her contemplated effort.However, I was perfectly aware of the factthat she had much material inher possession for a most interesting book on the subject of thecondition ofthe colored people in the South. I know of no other woman,white or colored, anywhere, who has come sointimately in contact withthe colored people in the South as Mrs. Harper. Since emancipation shehaslabored in every Southern State in the Union, save two, Arkansas andTexas; in the colleges, schools,churches, and the cabins not excepted,she has found a vast field and open doors to teach and speak onthethemes of education, temperance, and good home building, industry,morality, and the like, and neverlacked for evidences of heartyappreciation and gratitude.Everywhere help was needed, and her heartbeing deeply absorbed in thecause she willingly allowed her sympathies to impel her to performmostheroic services.With her it was no uncommon occurrence, in visiting cities or towns, tospeak at two,three, and four meetings a day; sometimes to promiscuousaudiences composed of everybody who wouldcare to come.But the kind of meetings she took greatest interest in were meetingscalled exclusively forwomen. In this attitude she could pour out hersympathies to them as she could not do before a mixedaudience; andindeed she felt their needs were far more pressing than any other class.And now I amprepared to most fully indorse her story. I doubt whethershe could, if she had tried ever so much, havehit upon a subject sowell adapted to reach a large number of her friends and the public withbothentertaining and instructive matter as successfully as she has donein this volume.The grand andennobling sentiments which have characterized all herutterances in laboring for the elevation of theoppressed will not befound missing in this book.The previous books from her pen, which have been sovery widelycirculated and admired, North and South--"Forest Leaves," "MiscellaneousPoems," "Moses, aStory of the Nile," "Poems," and "Sketches of SouthernLife" (five in number)--these, I predict, will be byfar eclipsed bythis last effort, which will, in all probability, be the crowning effortof her long and valuableservices in the cause of humanity.While, as indicated, Mrs. Harper has done a large amount of work intheSouth, she has at the same time done much active service in thetemperance cause in the North, asthousands of this class can testify.Before the war she was engaged as a speaker byanti-slaveryassociations; since then, by appointment of the Women's ChristianTemperance Union, shehas held the office of "Superintendent of ColoredWork" for years. She has also held the office of one ofthe Directors ofthe Women's Congress of the United States.Under the auspices of these influential,earnest, and intelligentassociations, she has been seen often on their platforms with theleading ladyorators of the nation.Hence, being widely known not only amongst her own race but likewise bythe


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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of This Side of Paradise, by F. Scott FitzgeraldThis eBook is for the use ofanyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: This Side of ParadiseAuthor: F. Scott FitzgeraldPosting Date: August 6, 2008[EBook #805]Release Date: February, 1997[Last updated: June 22, 2011]Language: English*** STARTOF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THIS SIDE OF PARADISE ***Produced by David Reed, and KenReederTHIS SIDE OF PARADISEBy F. Scott Fitzgerald      ... Well this side of Paradise!...       There's littlecomfort in the wise.                              --Rupert Brooke.       Experience is the name so manypeople       give to their mistakes.                              --Oscar Wilde.             To SIGOURNEYFAYCONTENTS     BOOK ONE: The Romantic Egotist      1.   AMORY, SON OF BEATRICE      2.   SPIRESAND GARGOYLES      3.   THE EGOTIST CONSIDERS      4.   NARCISSUS OFF DUTY     [INTERLUDE: MAY,1917-FEBRUARY, 1919. ]     BOOK TWO: The Education of a Personage      1.   THEDEBUTANTE      2.   EXPERIMENTS IN CONVALESCENCE      3.   YOUNG IRONY      4.   THESUPERCILIOUS SACRIFICE      5.   THE EGOTIST BECOMES A PERSONAGEBOOK ONE--The RomanticEgotistCHAPTER 1. Amory, Son of BeatriceAmory Blaine inherited from his mother every trait, exceptthestray inexpressible few, that made him worth while. His father, anineffectual, inarticulate man with ataste for Byron and a habit ofdrowsing over the Encyclopedia Britannica, grew wealthy at thirtythroughthe death of two elder brothers, successful Chicago brokers, andin the first flush of feeling that the worldwas his, went to Bar Harborand met Beatrice O'Hara. In consequence, Stephen Blaine handed downtoposterity his height of just under six feet and his tendency to waver atcrucial moments, these twoabstractions appearing in his son Amory.For many years he hovered in the background of his family's life,anunassertive figure with a face half-obliterated by lifeless, silky hair,continually occupied in "taking care"of his wife, continually harassedby the idea that he didn't and couldn't understand her.But BeatriceBlaine! There was a woman! Early pictures taken on herfather's estate at Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, or inRome at the SacredHeart Convent--an educational extravagance that in her youth was onlyfor thedaughters of the exceptionally wealthy--showed the exquisitedelicacy of her features, the consummateart and simplicity of herclothes. A brilliant education she had--her youth passed in renaissanceglory, shewas versed in the latest gossip of the Older Roman Families;known by name as a fabulously wealthyAmerican girl to Cardinal Vitoriand Queen Margherita and more subtle celebrities that one must havehadsome culture even to have heard of. She learned in England to preferwhiskey and soda to wine, andher small talk was broadened in two sensesduring a winter in Vienna. All in all Beatrice O'Hara absorbedthesort of education that will be quite impossible ever again; a tutelagemeasured by the number of thingsand people one could be contemptuous ofand charming about; a culture rich in all arts and traditions,barren ofall ideas, in the last of those days when the great gardener clipped theinferior roses to produceone perfect bud.In her less important moments she returned to America, met StephenBlaine and marriedhim--this almost entirely because she was a littlebit weary, a little bit sad. Her only child was carriedthrougha tiresome season and brought into the world on a spring day inninety-six.When Amory was fivehe was already a delightful companion for her. Hewas an auburn-haired boy, with great, handsome eyeswhich he would growup to in time, a facile imaginative mind and a taste for fancy dress.From his fourthto his tenth year he did the country with his motherin her father's private car, from Coronado, where hismother became sobored that she had a nervous breakdown in a fashionable hotel, down toMexico City,where she took a mild, almost epidemic consumption. Thistrouble pleased her, and later she made use ofit as an intrinsic partof her atmosphere--especially after several astounding bracers.So, while more orless fortunate little rich boys were defyinggovernesses on the beach at Newport, or being spanked ortutored or readto from "Do and Dare," or "Frank on the Mississippi," Amory was bitingacquiescentbell-boys in the Waldorf, outgrowing a natural repugnanceto chamber music and symphonies, andderiving a highly specializededucation from his mother."Amory.""Yes, Beatrice." (Such a quaint name forhis mother; she encouraged it.)"Dear, don't _think_ of getting out of bed yet. I've always suspectedthat


ï»¿Project Gutenberg's The Spanish Curate, by Francis Beaumont and John FletcherThis eBook is for theuse of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give itaway orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.netTitle: The Spanish Curate       A ComedyAuthor: Francis Beaumont and JohnFletcherRelease Date: April 25, 2004 [EBook #12141]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECTGUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPANISH CURATE ***Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Jayam Subramanian andPG DistributedProofreaders     THE SPANISH CURATE,     ACOMEDY.       *       *       *       *       *     Persons Represented in the Play.     Don Henrique, _anuxorious Lord,     cruel to his Brother_.     Don Jamie, _younger Brother to_Don     Henrique.     Bartolus, _a covetous Lawyer Husband     to_ Amaranta.     Leandro, _a Gentlemanwho wantonly     loves the Lawyers Wife_.     Angelo, } _Three Gentlemen Friend[s]_     Milanes,} _to_Leandro.     Arsenio,}     Ascanio, _Son to_ Don Henrique.     Octavio, _supposed Husband to_Jacintha.     Lopez, _the_ Spanish Curate.     Diego, _his Sexton_.     Assistant, _which we call aJudge_.     Algazeirs, _whom we call Serjeants_.     4Parishioners.     Apparitor.     Singers.     Servants.     _WOMEN_.     Violante, _supposed Wife to_Don     Henrique.     Jacintha, _formerly contracted to_ Don     Henrique.     Amaranta, _Wife to_Bartolus.     A Woman Moor, _Servant to_ Amaranta.       *       *       *       *       *     _The Scene_Spain.       *       *       *       *       *     The principal Actors were,     Joseph Taylor.  } {WilliamEglestone.     John Lowin.     } {Thomas Polard.     Nicholas Toolie.} {RobertBenfeild.       *       *       *       *       *     Actus primus. Scenaprima.       *       *       *       *       *     _Enter_ Angelo, Milanes, _and_Arsenio.     _Arsenio.     Leandro_ paid all.     _Mil_.     'Tis his usual custom,     And requisite he should:he has now put off     The Funeral black, (your rich heir wears with joy,     When he pretends to weep forhis dead Father)     Your gathering Sires, so long heap muck together,     That their kind Sons, to ridthem of their care,     Wish them in Heaven; or if they take a taste     Of Purgatory by the way, it mattersnot,     Provided they remove hence; what is befaln     To his Father, in the other world, I ask not;     Iam sure his prayer is heard: would I could use one     For mine, in the same method.     _Ars_.     Fieupon thee.     This is prophane.     _Mil_.     Good Doctor, do not school me     For a fault you are not freefrom: On my life     Were all Heirs in _Corduba_, put to their Oaths,     They would confess with me, 'tis asound Tenet:     I am sure _Leandro_ do's.     _Ars_.     He is th'owner     Of a fairEstate.     _Mil_.     And fairly he deserves it,     He's a Royal Fellow: yet observes a mean     In all hiscourses, careful too on whom     He showers his bounties: he that's liberal     To all alike, may do a goodby chance,     But never out of Judgment: This invites     The prime men of the City to frequent     Allplaces he resorts to, and are happy     In his sweet Converse.     _Ars.     Don Jamie_ the Brother     Tothe Grandee _Don Henrique_, appears much taken     With his behaviour.     _Mil_.     There is somethingmore in't:     He needs his Purse, and knows how to make use on't.     'Tis now in fashion for your _Don_,that's poor,     To vow all Leagues of friendship with a Merchant     That can supply his wants, andhowsoe're     _Don Jamie's_ noble born, his elder Brother     _Don Henrique_ rich, and his Revenues longsince     Encreas'd by marrying with a wealthy Heir     Call'd, Madam _Vi[o]lante_, he yet holds     A hardhand o're _Jamie_, allowing him     A bare annuity only.     _Ars_.     Yet 'tis said     He hath no child, andby the Laws of _Spain_     If he die without issue, _Don Jamie_     Inherits his Estate.     _Mil_.     Whythat's the reason     Of their so many jarrs: though the young Lord     Be sick of the elder Brother, and inreason     Should flatter, and observe him, he's of a nature     Too bold and fierce, to stoop so, but bearsup,     Presuming on his hopes.     _Ars_.     What's the young Lad     That all of 'em make so muchof?     _Mil._     'Tis a sweet one,     And the best condition'd youth, I ever saw yet,     So humble, and soaffable, that he wins     The love of all that know him, and so modest,     That (in despight of poverty) hewould starve     Rather than ask a courtesie: He's the Son     Of a poor cast-Captain, one_Octavio_;     And She, that once was call'd th'fair _Jacinta_,     Is happy in being his Mother: for his


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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Cid, by Pierre CorneilleThis eBook is for the use of anyoneanywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.netTitle: The CidAuthor: Pierre CorneilleRelease Date: February 7, 2005 [EBook#14954]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CID ***Produced byDavid Garcia, Branko Collin and the Online DistributedProofreading Team.[Transcriber's note: This text isno longer copyrighted; originalcopyright note preserved for accuracy.]Handy LiteralTranslationsCORNEILLE'STHE CIDA Literal Translation, byROSCOE MONGAN1896, BY HINDS &NOBLEHINDS, NOBLE & ELDREDGE, Publishers,31-33-35 West Fifteenth Street, New YorkCityPREFACE.Cid Campeador is the name given in histories, traditions and songs tothe most celebrated ofSpain's national heroes.His real name was Rodrigo or Ruy Diaz (i.e. "son of Diego"), aCastilian noble bybirth. He was born at Burgos about the year 1040.There is so much of the mythical in the history of thispersonage thathypercritical writers, such as Masdeu, have doubted his existence; butrecent researcheshave succeeded in separating the historical from theromantic.Under Sancho II, son of Ferdinand, heserved as commander of the royaltroops. In a war between the two brothers, Sancho II. and Alfonso VI.ofLeon, due to some dishonorable stratagem on the part of Rodrigo, Sanchowas victorious and hisbrother was forced to seek refuge with theMoorish King of Toledo.In 1072 Sancho was assassinated atthe siege of Zamora, and as he leftno heir the Castilians had to acknowledge Alfonso as King.AlthoughAlfonso never forgave the Cid for having, as leader of the Castilians,compelled him to swear thathe (the Cid) had no hand in the murder ofhis brother Sancho, as a conciliatory measure, he gave hiscousinXimena, daughter of the Count of Oviedo, to the Cid in marriage, butafterwards, in 1081, when hefound himself firmly seated on the throne,yielding to his own feelings of resentment and incited by theLeonesenobles, he banished him from the kingdom.At the head of a large body of followers, the Cidjoined the MoorishKing of Saragossa, in whose service he fought against both Moslems andChristians. Itwas probably during this exile that he was first calledthe Cid, an Arabic title, which means the _lord_. Hewas verysuccessful in all his battles.In conjunction with Mostain, grandson of Moctadir, he invadedValenciain 1088, but afterwards carried on operations alone, and finally, aftera long siege, made himselfmaster of the city in June, 1094. He retainedpossession of Valencia for five years and reigned like anindependentsovereign over one of the richest territories in the Peninsula, but diedsuddenly in 1099 ofanger and grief on hearing that his relative, AlvarFaÃ±ez, had been vanquished and the army which hehad sent to hisassistance had been defeated.After the Cid's death his wife held Valencia till 1102, whenshe wasobliged to yield to the Almoravides and fly to Castile, where she diedin 1104. Her remains wereplaced by those of her lord in the monasteryof San Pedro de CardeÃ±a.THE CID.ACT THE FIRST.SceneI.--CHIMÃNE and ELVIRA._ChimÃ¨ne._ Elvira, have you given me a really true report? Do youconcealnothing that my father has said?_Elvira._ All my feelings within me are still delighted with it. HeesteemsRodrigo as much as you love him; and if I do not misread hismind, he will command you to respond to hispassion._ChimÃ¨ne._ Tell me then, I beseech you, a second time, what makes youbelieve that heapproves of my choice; tell me anew what hope I ought toentertain from it. A discourse so charmingcannot be too often heard;you cannot too forcibly promise to the fervor of our love the sweetliberty ofmanifesting itself to the light of day. What answer has hegiven regarding the secret suit which DonSancho and Don Rodrigo arepaying to you? Have you not too clearly shown the disparity between thetwolovers which inclines me to the one side?_Elvira._ No; I have depicted your heart as filled withanindifference which elates not either of them nor destroys hope, and,without regarding them with toostern or too gentle an aspect, awaits thecommands of a father to choose a spouse. This respect hasdelightedhim--his lips and his countenance gave me at once a worthy testimony ofit; and, since I mustagain tell you the tale, this is what he hastenedto say to me of them and of you: 'She is in the right. Bothare worthyof her; both are sprung from a noble, valiant, and faithful lineage;young but yet who show bytheir mien [_lit._ cause to easily be readin their eyes] the brilliant valor of their brave ancestors. Don


ï»¿Project Gutenberg's Little Lord Fauntleroy, by Frances Hodgson BurnettThis eBook is for the use ofanyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: Little Lord FauntleroyAuthor: Frances Hodgson BurnettRelease Date: January16, 2006 [EBook #479][Last updated: December 9, 2011]Language: English*** START OF THISPROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY ***Produced by Charles Keller and DavidWidgerLITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROYBy Frances Hodgson BurnettICedric himself knew nothing whateverabout it. It had never been evenmentioned to him. He knew that his papa had been an Englishman,becausehis mamma had told him so; but then his papa had died when he was solittle a boy that he couldnot remember very much about him, except thathe was big, and had blue eyes and a long mustache, andthat it was asplendid thing to be carried around the room on his shoulder. Since hispapa's death, Cedrichad found out that it was best not to talk to hismamma about him. When his father was ill, Cedric hadbeen sent away, andwhen he had returned, everything was over; and his mother, who hadbeen very ill,too, was only just beginning to sit in her chair by thewindow. She was pale and thin, and all the dimpleshad gone from herpretty face, and her eyes looked large and mournful, and she was dressedinblack."Dearest," said Cedric (his papa had called her that always, and so thelittle boy had learned to sayit),--"dearest, is my papa better?"He felt her arms tremble, and so he turned his curly head and lookedinher face. There was something in it that made him feel that he was goingto cry."Dearest," he said, "ishe well?"Then suddenly his loving little heart told him that he'd better put bothhis arms around her neckand kiss her again and again, and keep hissoft cheek close to hers; and he did so, and she laid her faceon hisshoulder and cried bitterly, holding him as if she could never let himgo again."Yes, he is well," shesobbed; "he is quite, quite well, but we--we haveno one left but each other. No one at all."Then, little ashe was, he understood that his big, handsome young papawould not come back any more; that he wasdead, as he had heard of otherpeople being, although he could not comprehend exactly whatstrangething had brought all this sadness about. It was because his mammaalways cried when he spokeof his papa that he secretly made up his mindit was better not to speak of him very often to her, and hefound out,too, that it was better not to let her sit still and look into the fireor out of the window withoutmoving or talking. He and his mamma knewvery few people, and lived what might have been thoughtvery lonelylives, although Cedric did not know it was lonely until he grew olderand heard why it was theyhad no visitors. Then he was told that hismamma was an orphan, and quite alone in the world when hispapa hadmarried her. She was very pretty, and had been living as companion to arich old lady who wasnot kind to her, and one day Captain Cedric Errol,who was calling at the house, saw her run up the stairswith tears onher eyelashes; and she looked so sweet and innocent and sorrowful thatthe Captain couldnot forget her. And after many strange things hadhappened, they knew each other well and loved eachother dearly, andwere married, although their marriage brought them the ill-will ofseveral persons. Theone who was most angry of all, however, wasthe Captain's father, who lived in England, and was a veryrich andimportant old nobleman, with a very bad temper and a very violentdislike to America andAmericans. He had two sons older than CaptainCedric; and it was the law that the elder of these sonsshould inheritthe family title and estates, which were very rich and splendid; if theeldest son died, thenext one would be heir; so, though he was a memberof such a great family, there was little chance thatCaptain Cedricwould be very rich himself.But it so happened that Nature had given to the youngest songifts whichshe had not bestowed upon his elder brothers. He had a beautiful faceand a fine, strong,graceful figure; he had a bright smile and a sweet,gay voice; he was brave and generous, and had thekindest heart in theworld, and seemed to have the power to make every one love him. And itwas not sowith his elder brothers; neither of them was handsome,or very kind, or clever. When they were boys atEton, they were notpopular; when they were at college, they cared nothing for study, andwasted bothtime and money, and made few real friends. The old Earl,their father, was constantly disappointed andhumiliated by them; hisheir was no honor to his noble name, and did not promise to end in beinganything


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mardi Gras Mystery, by H. Bedford-JonesThis eBook is for the useof anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: The Mardi Gras MysteryAuthor: H. Bedford-JonesIllustrator: John NewtonHowittRelease Date: March 22, 2012 [EBook #39229]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECTGUTENBERG EBOOK THE MARDI GRAS MYSTERY ***Produced by Darleen Dove, Ernest Schaal, and theOnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from imagesgenerously made availableby The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)                             THE MARDIGRAS                                MYSTERY                                BOOKS BY                            H.BEDFORD-JONES                        CONQUEST                        CROSS AND THE HAMMER:A                          TALE OF THE DAYS OF THE                          VIKINGS                        FLAMEHAIRTHE SKALD: A                          TALE OF THE DAYSOF                          HARDREDE                        GOLDEN GHOST                        THE MESATRAIL                        THE MARDI GRAS MYSTERY                        UNDER FIRE[Illustration: "_'Youfrightened me, holy man!' she cried gaily.'Confess to you, indeed! Not I.'_"]                             THEMARDI GRAS                                 MYSTERY                                   BY                            H. BEDFORD-JONES                             [Illustration]                              FRONTISPIECE                                   BY                           JOHN NEWTON HOWITT                    GARDEN CITY, N. Y., ANDTORONTO                       DOUBLEDAY, PAGE &COMPANY                                  1921                        COPYRIGHT, 1920, 1921,BY                        DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY           ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OFTRANSLATION           INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN                                CONTENTS    CHAPTER                                                     PAGE       I.CARNIVAL                                                 3      II.MASQUERS                                                21     III. THEBANDIT                                              38      IV. CALLERS                                                 58       V.THE MASQUER UNMASKS                                     82      VI.CHACHERRE                                              107     VII. IN THEOPEN                                            125    VIII. COMUS                                                  143      IX. ONTHE BAYOU                                           169       X.MURDER                                                 190      XI. THEGANGSTERS                                          209     XII. THEULTIMATUM                                          228    XIII. THE COIN FALLSHEADS                                   249     XIV. CHACHERRE'S BUNDLE                                     262      XV.WHEN THE HEAVENS FALL                                  280     XVI. THE IMPREGNABILITY OF MR.FELL                         299    XVII.MI-CARÃME                                              310                             THE MARDIGRAS                                MYSTERY                         THE MARDI GRASMYSTERY                               CHAPTER I                               _Carnival_Jachin Fell pushed aside theglass curtains between the voluminousover-draperies in the windows of the Chess and Checkers Club,and gazedout upon the riotous streets of New Orleans. Half an hour he had beenwaiting here in thelounge room for Dr. Cyril Ansley, a middle-agedbachelor who had practised in Opelousas for twentyyears, and who hadcome to the city for the Mardi Gras festivities. Another man might haveseemedirritated by the wait, but Jachin Fell was quite unruffled.He had much the air of a clerk. His features werethin and unremarkable;his pale eyes constantly wore an expression of wondering aloofness, asthough hesaw around him much that he vainly tried to understand. In hisentire manner was a shy reticence. Hewas no clerk, however, this wasevident from his attire. He was garbed from head to foot insoberlyblending shades of gray whose richness was notable only at close view.One fancied him a very


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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Vortex Blaster, by Edward Elmer SmithThis eBook is for the use ofanyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: The Vortex BlasterAuthor: Edward Elmer SmithRelease Date: September 16,2007 [EBook #22629]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VORTEXBLASTER ***Produced by Greg Weeks, V. L. Simpson and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team athttp://www.pgdp.net    [Illustration: _The Lensman and the observer helped    Storm into his heavilypadded armor. Their movements    were automatic--the ointment, the devices--_]  _INTRODUCING"Storm" Cloud, who, through tragedy, is    destined to become the most noted figure inthe                      galaxy--THE_                     VORTEX BLASTER              (_Complete in thisissue!_)                           by                   E. E. SMITH, Ph.D._Author of "The Skylark," "Skylark Three,""The Skylark        of Valeron," the Lensman stories, etc._Safety devices that do not protect.The"unsinkable" ships that, before the days of Bergenholm and of atomicand cosmic energy, sank into thewaters of the earth.More particularly, safety devices which, while protecting against oneagent ofdestruction, attract magnet-like another and worse. Such as thearmored cable within the walls of awooden house. It protects theelectrical conductors within against accidental external shorts;but,inadequately grounded as it must of necessity be, it may attract andupon occasion has attracted thestupendous force of lightning. Then,fused, volatilized, flaming incandescent throughout the length,breadth,and height of a dwelling, that dwelling's existence thereafter is to bemeasured inminutes.Specifically, four lightning rods. The lightning rods protecting thechromium, glass, and plastichome of Neal Cloud. Those rods wereadequately grounded, grounded with copper-silver cables thebigness of astrong man's arm; for Neal Cloud, atomic physicist, knew his lightningand he was taking nochances whatever with the safety of his lovely wifeand their three wonderful kids.He did not know, he didnot even suspect, that under certain conditionsof atmospheric potential and of ground-magnetic stresshis perfectlydesigned lightning-rod system would become a super-powerful magnet forflying vortices ofatomic disintegration.And now Neal Cloud, atomic physicist, sat at his desk in a strained,dull apathy. Hisface was a yellowish-gray white, his tendoned handsgripped rigidly the arms of his chair. His eyes, hardand lifeless,stared unseeingly past the small, three-dimensional block portrait ofall that had made lifeworth living.For his guardian against lightning had been a vortex-magnet at themoment when a lucklesswight had attempted to abate the nuisance of a"loose" atomic vortex. That wight died, of course--theyalmost alwaysdo--and the vortex, instead of being destroyed, was simply broken upinto an indefinitenumber of widely-scattered new vortices. And one ofthese bits of furious, uncontrolled energy,resembling more nearly ahandful of material rived from a sun than anything else with whichordinary manis familiar, darted toward and crashed downward to earththrough Neal Cloud's new house.That home didnot burn; it simply exploded. Nothing of it, in it, oraround it stood a chance, for in a fractional second oftime the placewhere it had been was a crater of seething, boiling lava--a crater whichfilled theatmosphere to a height of miles with poisonous vapors; whichflooded all circumambient space with lethalradiations.Cosmically, the whole thing was infinitesimal. Ever since man learnedhow to liberateintra-atomic energy, the vortices of disintegration hadbeen breaking out of control. Such accidents hadbeen happening, werehappening, and would continue indefinitely to happen. More than oneworld,perhaps, had been or would be consumed to the last gram by suchloose atomic vortices. What of that? Ofwhat real importance are a fewgrains of sand to an ocean beach five thousand miles long, a hundredmileswide, and ten miles deep?And even to that individual grain of sand called "Earth"--or, in modernparlance,"Sol Three," or "Tellus of Sol", or simply "Tellus"--theaffair was of negligible importance. One man haddied; but, in dying, hehad added one more page to the thick bulk of negative results already onfile. ThatMrs. Cloud and her children had perished was merelyunfortunate. The vortex itself was not yet a realthreat to Tellus. Itwas a "new" one, and thus it would be a long time before it would becomeother than alocal menace. And well before that could happen--beforeeven the oldest of Tellus' loose vortices had


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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Flea, by Harold RussellThis eBook is for the use of anyoneanywhere in the United States and mostother parts of the world at no cost and with almost norestrictionswhatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms ofthe ProjectGutenberg License included with this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in theUnited States, you'll haveto check the laws of the country where you are located before using thisebook.Title: The FleaAuthor: Harold RussellRelease Date: December 2, 2014 [EBook #47513]Language:EnglishCharacter set encoding: UTF-8*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLEA***Produced by Giovanni Fini, Bryan Ness and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team athttp://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The InternetArchive/American Libraries.)                         TRANSCRIBERâS NOTES:âObvious print andpunctuation errors were corrected.âUnderlined text has been rendered as *underlined text*.TheCambridge Manuals of Science and Literature                               THE FLEA                      CAMBRIDGEUNIVERSITY PRESS                       London: FETTER LANE, E.C.                          C. F. CLAY,MANAGER[Illustration: LOGO]                    Edinburgh: 100, PRINCES STREET             London: H. K.LEWIS, 136, GOWER STREET, W.C.            WILLIAM WESLEY & SON, 28, ESSEX STREET,STRAND                       Berlin: A. ASHER AND CO.                       Leipzig: F. A.BROCKHAUS                     New York: G. P. PUTNAMâS SONS             Bombay and Calcutta:MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD.                         _All rights reserved_[Illustration:  _After a drawing by DrJordan_Oriental rat-flea (_Xenopsylla cheopis_ Rothsch.). Male.][Illustration; DECORATED FRONTPAGE:                               THE FLEA                                  BY                            HAROLDRUSSELL,                        B.A., F.Z.S., M.B.O.U.                        With nineillustrations                              Cambridge:                        at the UniversityPress                                 1913]                               Cambridge                      PRINTED BY JOHNCLAY, M.A.                        AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS_With the exception of the coat of arms at thefoot, the design onthe title page is a reproduction of one used by the earliest knownCambridge printer,John Siberch, 1521_PREFACETHE aim of this book is to give in plain language some account of asmall,but noteworthy, group of insects. I have avoided, whenever Icould, using the technical terms of zoology.To avoid doing so entirelyis impossible in a book which describes insects in some detail. Notechnical termhas, I hope, been used without an explanation.Over thirty years have elapsed since TaschenbergâsGerman book, _DieFlÃ¶he_, appeared. Our knowledge has made enormous strides since then.Morespecies of flea are now known from the British Islands alonethan were then known from the whole world.So far as I am aware, nobook, devoted to what is known about fleas, has ever been published inEnglish.The statements about these insects in the general text-booksof entomology are frequently antiquatedand inaccurate. But there isa fairly extensive literature on the _Siphonaptera_ scattered throughscientificperiodicals mostly in English, German, Italian, Dutch andRussian. I have given some references in theBibliography.The naturalists now living who have devoted any time to the specialstudy of fleas mayalmost be counted on oneâs fingers. In England thereare Mr Charles Rothschild and Dr Jordan; in theShetland Islands, theRev. James Waterston; in Germany, Taschenberg of Halle and DampfofKÃ¶nigsberg; in Russia, Wagner of Kieff; in Holland, Oudemans of Arnhem;in Italy, Tiraboschi of Rome;in the United States, Carl Baker and afew others. I have not mentioned medical men who haveinvestigatedfleas in connection with plague.There are small collections of fleas in the Natural HistoryMuseums atSouth Kensington (London), Paris, Berlin, KÃ¶nigsberg, Vienna, Budapest,S. Petersburg andWashington. Of private collections Mr CharlesRothschildâs at Tring is by far the best in the world. Itcontainssomething like a hundred thousand specimens and is most admirably kept.I must expressprofound and sincere gratitude to Mr Rothschild forhaving helped me in numberless ways and advised mein many difficulties.It is well known that the mere mention of fleas is not only considereda subject formerriment, but in some people produces, by subjectivesuggestion, violent irritation of the skin. Thescientific studyof fleas has, however, received a great impetus since it has beenascertained that they are


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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Eastern Standard Tribe, by Cory DoctorowThis eBook is for the use ofanyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.net** This is a COPYRIGHTED Project Gutenberg eBook, Details Below ****     Pleasefollow the copyright guidelines in this file.     **Title: Eastern Standard TribeAuthor: CoryDoctorowRelease Date: November 20, 2005 [EBook #17028]Language: English*** START OF THISPROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EASTERN STANDARD TRIBE ***Eastern Standard TribeCoryDoctorowCopyright 2004 Cory Doctorowdoctorow@craphound.comhttp://www.craphound.com/estTorBooks, March 2004ISBN: 0765307596--=======Blurbs:======="Utterly contemporary and deeplypeculiar -- a hard combination to beat(or, these days, to find)."- William Gibson,Author ofNeuromancer--"Cory Doctorow knocks me out. In a good way."- Pat Cadigan,Author of Synners--"CoryDoctorow is just far enough ahead of the game to give you that authenticchill of the future, and closeenough to home for us to know that he's talkingabout where we live as well as where we're going to live;a connected worldfull of disconnected people. One of whom is about to lobotomise himself throughthenostril with a pencil. Funny as hell and sharp as steel."- Warren Ellis,Author ofTransmetropolitan--=======================A note about thisbook:=======================Last year, in January 2003, my first novel [http://craphound.com/down ] cameout. I was 31 years old, and I'd been calling myself a novelist sincethe age of12. It was the storied dream-of-a-lifetime, come-true-at-last. I was and amproud as hell of thatbook, even though it is just one book among many releasedlast year, better than some, poorer thanothers; and even though the print-run(which sold out very quickly!) though generous by science fictionstandards,hardly qualifies it as a work of mass entertainment.The thing that's extraordinary about thatfirst novel is that it was releasedunder terms governed by a Creative Commons [http://creativecommons.org ]license that allowed my readers to copy the book freely and distribute itfarand wide. Hundreds of thousands of copies of the book were made and distributedthis way.*Hundreds* of *thousands*.Today, I release my second novel, and my third[http://www.argosymag.com/NextIssue.html ], a collaboration with Charlie Strossis due any day, andtwo [http://www.fantasticmetropolis.com/show.html?fn.preview_doctorow ] more[http://www.craphound.com/usrbingodexcerpt.txt ] are under contract. My career asa novelist is nowwell underway -- in other words, I am firmly afoot on a longroad that stretches into the future: myfuture, science fiction's future,publishing's future and the future of the world.The future is my business,more or less. I'm a science fiction writer. One wayto know the future is to look good and hard at thepresent. Here's a thing I'venoticed about the present: MORE PEOPLE ARE READING MORE WORDS OFFOF MORESCREENS THAN EVER BEFORE. Here's another thing I've noticed about the present:FEWERPEOPLE ARE READING FEWER WORDS OFF OF FEWER PAGES THAN EVER BEFORE. Thatdoesn't meanthat the book is *dying* -- no more than the advent of the printingpress and the de-emphasis ofBible-copying monks meant that the book was dying-- but it does mean that the book is changing. I thinkthat *literature* isalive and well: we're reading our brains out! I just think that the complexsocialpractice of "book" -- of which a bunch of paper pages between two coversis the mere expression -- istransforming and will transform further.I intend on figuring out what it's transforming into. I intend onfiguring outthe way that some writers -- that *this writer*, right here, wearing myunderwear -- is goingto get rich and famous from his craft. I intend onfiguring out how *this writer's* words can become partof the social discourse,can be relevant in the way that literature at its best can be.I don't know what thefuture of book looks like. To figure it out, I'm doingsome pretty basic science. I'm peering into thisopaque, inscrutable system ofpublishing as it sits in the year 2004, and I'm making a perturbation.I'mstirring the pot to see what surfaces, so that I can see if the system revealsitself to me any morethoroughly as it roils. Once that happens, maybe I'll beable to formulate an hypothesis and try anexperiment or two and maybe -- justmaybe -- I'll get to the bottom of book-in-2004 and beat the


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Alphabetical<tralign="center">        #         <ahref="/alphabetical/A">A        B        <ahref="/alphabetical/C">C        D        <ahref="/alphabetical/E">E        F        <ahref="/alphabetical/G">G        H<tralign="center">         I        <ahref="/alphabetical/J">J        K        <ahref="/alphabetical/L">L        M        <ahref="/alphabetical/N">N        O        <ahref="/alphabetical/P">P        Q<tralign="center">         R        <ahref="/alphabetical/S">S        T        <ahref="/alphabetical/U">U        V        <ahref="/alphabetical/W">W        X        <a


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Huntingtower, by John BuchanThis eBook is for the use of anyoneanywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.netTitle: HuntingtowerAuthor: John BuchanRelease Date: December 6, 2011 [EBook#3782]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HUNTINGTOWER***Produced by Edward A. White, Robert F. Jaffe, KirstenTozer, Charlene Taylor, Cathy Maxam and theOnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Thisbook was produced from scannedimages of public domainmaterial from the Google Print project.)TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:In footnotenumber 1 (page 72) the author refers toa sketch on the frontispiece of the book.  At the time of postingthisbook to Project Gutenberg, it was verified by the content provider thatthere is no frontispiece in thisparticular edition of Huntingtower.In the plain-text version of this ebook italics are indicatedby_underscores_.Obvious typographical errors have been corrected without comment. Oneexample of anobvious typographical error is on page 237 where the word"shamefaceedly" was changed to"shamefacedly". Other than obvioustypographical errors, the author's original spelling has been leftintact.This includes the use of unconventional spelling and dialect.Inconsistencies in the author's use of hyphensand accent marks havebeen left unchanged, as in the original text.The following four changes were madeto punctuation and spelling:     1. Page 96: An apostrophe was removed from the word "an'" inthe     phrase "I've found a ladder, an auld yin" (an old one).     2. Page 100: A question mark waschanged to a period in the phrase     "... he realised that he was in the presence of something thelike     of which he had never met in his life before."     4. Page 187: An apostrophe was removed fromthe word "wing's" in     the phrase "... take the wings off a seagull."  HUNTINGTOWER  JOHNBUCHAN_By_ JOHN BUCHAN  HUNTINGTOWER  THE PATH OF THE KING  MR.STANDFAST  GREENMANTLE  THE WATCHERS BY THE THRESHOLD  SALUTE TO ADVENTURES  PRESTERJOHN  THE POWER HOUSE  THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS  THE BATTLE OF THE SOMMENEW YORK: GEORGEH. DORAN COMPANY  HUNTINGTOWER  BY  JOHN BUCHAN  NEW [Illustration] YORK  GEORGE H. DORANCOMPANY  COPYRIGHT, 1922,  BY GEORGE H. DORANCOMPANY  [Illustration]  HUNTINGTOWER.  II  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICATOW. P.KER_If the Professor of Poetry in the University of Oxford has notforgotten the rock whence he was hewn,this simple story may give him anhour of entertainment. I offer it to you because I think you have metmyfriend Dickson McCunn, and I dare to hope that you may even in your manysojournings in theWestlands have encountered one or other of theGorbals Die-Hards. If you share my kindly feeling forDickson, you willbe interested in some facts which I have lately ascertained about hisancestry. In hisveins there flows a portion of the redoubtable blood ofthe Nicol Jarvies. When the Bailie, you remember,returned from hisjourney to Rob Roy beyond the Highland Line, he espoused his housekeeperMattie, "anhonest man's daughter and a near cousin o' the Laird o'Limmerfield." The union was blessed with a son,who succeeded to theBailie's business and in due course begat daughters, one of whom marrieda certainEbenezer McCunn, of whom there is record in the archives ofthe Hammermen of Glasgow. Ebenezer'sgrandson, Peter by name, wasProvost of Kirkintilloch, and his second son was the father of my heroby hismarriage with Robina Dickson, eldest daughter of one RobertDickson, a tenant-farmer in the Lennox. Sothere are coloured threads inMr. McCunn's pedigree, and, like the Bailie, he can count kin, should hewish,with Rob Roy himself through "the auld wife ayont the fire atStuckavrallachan."__Such as it is, I dedicateto you the story, and ask for no betterverdict on it than that of that profound critic of life andliterature,Mr. Huckleberry Finn, who observed of the_ Pilgrim's Progress, _that he"considered thestatements interesting, but steep."_J. B.CONTENTS                                                    PAGE  PROLOGUE                                            11  CHAPTER     I HOW A RETIRED PROVISION MERCHANT FELT        THEIMPULSE OF SPRING                         17    II OF MR. JOHN HERITAGE AND THE DIFFERENCE        INPOINTS OF VIEW                             28   III HOW CHILDE ROLAND AND ANOTHER CAME TO        THEDARK TOWER                                46    IV DOUGAL                                         70     V OF THE


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Woodlanders, by Thomas HardyThis eBook is for the use ofanyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.netTitle: The WoodlandersAuthor: Thomas HardyPosting Date: August 30, 2008 [EBook#482]Release Date: April, 1996Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THEWOODLANDERS ***THE WOODLANDERSbyThomas HardyCHAPTER I.The rambler who, for oldassociation or other reasons, should trace theforsaken coach-road running almost in a meridional linefrom Bristol tothe south shore of England, would find himself during the latter halfof his journey in thevicinity of some extensive woodlands,interspersed with apple-orchards.  Here the trees, timberorfruit-bearing, as the case may be, make the wayside hedges ragged bytheir drip and shade, stretchingover the road with easefulhorizontality, as if they found the unsubstantial air an adequatesupport for theirlimbs.  At one place, where a hill is crossed, thelargest of the woods shows itself bisected by thehigh-way, as the headof thick hair is bisected by the white line of its parting.  The spotis lonely.Thephysiognomy of a deserted highway expresses solitude to a degreethat is not reached by mere dales ordowns, and bespeaks a tomb-likestillness more emphatic than that of glades and pools. The contrastofwhat is with what might be probably accounts for this.  To step, forinstance, at the place under notice,from the hedge of the plantationinto the adjoining pale thoroughfare, and pause amid its emptiness foramoment, was to exchange by the act of a single stride the simpleabsence of human companionship for anincubus of the forlorn.At this spot, on the lowering evening of a by-gone winter's day, therestood a manwho had entered upon the scene much in the aforesaidmanner.  Alighting into the road from a stile hardby, he, though by nomeans a "chosen vessel" for impressions, was temporarily influenced bysome suchfeeling of being suddenly more alone than before he hademerged upon the highway.It could be seen by aglance at his rather finical style of dress thathe did not belong to the country proper; and from his air,after awhile, that though there might be a sombre beauty in the scenery, musicin the breeze, and a wanprocession of coaching ghosts in the sentimentof this old turnpike-road, he was mainly puzzled about theway.  Thedead men's work that had been expended in climbing that hill, theblistered soles that hadtrodden it, and the tears that had wetted it,were not his concern; for fate had given him no time for anybutpractical things.He looked north and south, and mechanically prodded the ground withhiswalking-stick.  A closer glance at his face corroborated the testimonyof his clothes.  It wasself-complacent, yet there was small apparentground for such complacence.  Nothing irradiated it; to theeye of themagician in character, if not to the ordinary observer, the expressionenthroned there wasabsolute submission to and belief in a littleassortment of forms and habitudes.At first not a soul appearedwho could enlighten him as he desired, orseemed likely to appear that night.  But presently a slight noiseoflaboring wheels and the steady dig of a horse's shoe-tips becameaudible; and there loomed in thenotch of the hill and plantation thatthe road formed here at the summit a carrier's van drawn by asinglehorse.  When it got nearer, he said, with some relief to himself, "'TisMrs. Dollery's--this will helpme."The vehicle was half full of passengers, mostly women.  He held up hisstick at its approach, and thewoman who was driving drew rein."I've been trying to find a short way to Little Hintock this lasthalf-hour,Mrs. Dollery," he said.  "But though I've been to GreatHintock and Hintock House half a dozen times I amat fault about thesmall village.  You can help me, I dare say?"She assured him that she could--that asshe went to Great Hintock hervan passed near it--that it was only up the lane that branched out ofthelane into which she was about to turn--just ahead. "Though,"continued Mrs. Dollery, "'tis such a littlesmall place that, as a towngentleman, you'd need have a candle and lantern to find it if ye don'tknowwhere 'tis.  Bedad! I wouldn't live there if they'd pay me to.Now at Great Hintock you do see the world abit."He mounted and sat beside her, with his feet outside, where they wereever and anon brushed overby the horse's tail.This van, driven and owned by Mrs. Dollery, was rather a movableattachment of theroadway than an extraneous object, to those who knewit well.  The old horse, whose hair was of theroughness and color ofheather, whose leg-joints, shoulders, and hoofs were distorted byharness and


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Gambler, by Fyodor DostoyevskyThis eBook is for the use ofanyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.netTitle: The GamblerAuthor: Fyodor DostoyevskyPosting Date: March 1, 2009 [EBook#2197]Release Date: May, 2000[Last updated: July 24, 2011]Language: English*** START OF THISPROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GAMBLER ***Produced by Martin Adamson.  HTML version by AlHaines.THE GAMBLERByFYODOR DOSTOYEVSKYTranslated by C. J. HogarthIAt length I returned fromtwo weeks leave of absence to find that mypatrons had arrived three days ago in Roulettenberg. Ireceived fromthem a welcome quite different to that which I had expected. TheGeneral eyed me coldly,greeted me in rather haughty fashion, anddismissed me to pay my respects to his sister. It was clear thatfromSOMEWHERE money had been acquired. I thought I could even detect acertain shamefacedness inthe General's glance. Maria Philipovna, too,seemed distraught, and conversed with me with an air ofdetachment.Nevertheless, she took the money which I handed to her, counted it, andlistened to what Ihad to tell. To luncheon there were expected thatday a Monsieur Mezentsov, a French lady, and anEnglishman; for,whenever money was in hand, a banquet in Muscovite style was alwaysgiven. PolinaAlexandrovna, on seeing me, inquired why I had been solong away. Then, without waiting for an answer,she departed. Evidentlythis was not mere accident, and I felt that I must throw some lightupon matters.It was high time that I did so.I was assigned a small room on the fourth floor of the hotel (for youmustknow that I belonged to the General's suite). So far as I couldsee, the party had already gained somenotoriety in the place, whichhad come to look upon the General as a Russian nobleman of greatwealth.Indeed, even before luncheon he charged me, among other things,to get two thousand-franc noteschanged for him at the hotel counter,which put us in a position to be thought millionaires at all eventsfora week! Later, I was about to take Mischa and Nadia for a walk when asummons reached me from thestaircase that I must attend the General.He began by deigning to inquire of me where I was going to takethechildren; and as he did so, I could see that he failed to look me inthe eyes. He WANTED to do so, buteach time was met by me with such afixed, disrespectful stare that he desisted in confusion. Inpompouslanguage, however, which jumbled one sentence into another, and atlength grew disconnected,he gave me to understand that I was to leadthe children altogether away from the Casino, and out intothe park.Finally his anger exploded, and he added sharply:"I suppose you would like to take them to theCasino to play roulette?Well, excuse my speaking so plainly, but I know how addicted you aretogambling. Though I am not your mentor, nor wish to be, at least I havea right to require that you shallnot actually compromise me.""I have no money for gambling," I quietly replied."But you will soon be inreceipt of some," retorted the General,reddening a little as he dived into his writing desk andappliedhimself to a memorandum book. From it he saw that he had 120 roubles ofmine in hiskeeping."Let us calculate," he went on. "We must translate these roubles intothalers. Here--take 100thalers, as a round sum. The rest will be safein my hands."In silence I took the money."You must not beoffended at what I say," he continued. "You are tootouchy about these things. What I have said I havesaid merely as awarning. To do so is no more than my right."When returning home with the childrenbefore luncheon, I met acavalcade of our party riding to view some ruins. Two splendidcarriages,magnificently horsed, with Mlle. Blanche, Maria Philipovna,and Polina Alexandrovna in one of them, andthe Frenchman, theEnglishman, and the General in attendance on horseback! The passers-bystopped tostare at them, for the effect was splendid--the Generalcould not have improved upon it. I calculated that,with the 4000francs which I had brought with me, added to what my patrons seemedalready to haveacquired, the party must be in possession of at least7000 or 8000 francs--though that would be none toomuch for Mlle.Blanche, who, with her mother and the Frenchman, was also lodging inour hotel. The lattergentleman was called by the lacqueys "Monsieur leComte," and Mlle. Blanche's mother was dubbed"Madame la Comtesse."Perhaps in very truth they WERE "Comte et Comtesse."I knew that "Monsieur leComte" would take no notice of me when we metat dinner, as also that the General would not dream of


ï»¿Project Gutenberg's The Story of a Bad Boy, by Thomas Bailey AldrichThis eBook is for the use ofanyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: The Story of a Bad BoyAuthor: Thomas Bailey AldrichRelease Date: February25, 2006 [EBook #1948]Last Updated: June 5, 2010Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECTGUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF A BAD BOY ***Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer and DavidWidgerTHE STORY OF A BAD BOYby Thomas Bailey AldrichChapter One--In Which I Introduce MyselfThisis the story of a bad boy. Well, not such a very bad, but a prettybad boy; and I ought to know, for I am,or rather I was, that boymyself.Lest the title should mislead the reader, I hasten to assure him herethat Ihave no dark confessions to make. I call my story the story ofa bad boy, partly to distinguish myself fromthose faultless younggentlemen who generally figure in narratives of this kind, and partlybecause I reallywas not a cherub. I may truthfully say I was anamiable, impulsive lad, blessed with fine digestive powers,and nohypocrite. I didn't want to be an angel and with the angels stand; Ididn't think the missionarytracts presented to me by the Rev. WibirdHawkins were half so nice as Robinson Crusoe; and I didn'tsend mylittle pocket-money to the natives of the Feejee Islands, but spentit royally in peppermint-dropsand taffy candy. In short, I was a realhuman boy, such as you may meet anywhere in New England, andno morelike the impossible boy in a storybook than a sound orange is like onethat has been sucked dry.But let us begin at the beginning.Whenever a new scholar came to our school, I used to confront himatrecess with the following words: "My name's Tom Bailey; what's yourname?" If the name struck mefavorably, I shook hands with the newpupil cordially; but if it didn't, I would turn on my heel, for Iwasparticular on this point. Such names as Higgins, Wiggins, and Sprigginswere deadly affronts to myear; while Langdon, Wallace, Blake, and thelike, were passwords to my confidence and esteem.Ah me!some of those dear fellows are rather elderly boys by thistime--lawyers, merchants, sea-captains,soldiers, authors, what not? PhilAdams (a special good name that Adams) is consul at Shanghai, whereIpicture him to myself with his head closely shaved--he never had too muchhair--and a long pigtailbanging down behind. He is married, I hear;and I hope he and she that was Miss Wang Wang are veryhappy together,sitting cross-legged over their diminutive cups of tea in a skybluetower hung with bells. Itis so I think of him; to me he is hencefortha jewelled mandarin, talking nothing but broken China.Whitcomb is ajudge, sedate and wise, with spectacles balanced on the bridge of thatremarkable nosewhich, in former days, was so plentifully sprinkled withfreckles that the boys christened him PepperWhitcomb. Just to thinkof little Pepper Whitcomb being a judge! What would he do to me now, Iwonder, ifI were to sing out "Pepper!" some day in court? Fred Langdonis in California, in the native-winebusiness--he used to make the bestlicorice-water I ever tasted! Binny Wallace sleeps in the OldSouthBurying-Ground; and Jack Harris, too, is dead--Harris, who commanded usboys, of old, in thefamous snow-ball battles of Slatter's Hill. Was ityesterday I saw him at the head of his regiment on itsway to join theshattered Army of the Potomac? Not yesterday, but six years ago. It wasat the battle ofthe Seven Pines. Gallant Jack Harris, that never drewrein until he had dashed into the Rebel battery! Sothey found him--lyingacross the enemy's guns.How we have parted, and wandered, and married, anddied! I wonder whathas become of all the boys who went to the Temple Grammar School atRivermouthwhen I was a youngster? "All, all are gone, the old familiarfaces!"It is with no ungentle hand I summonthem back, for a moment, from thatPast which has closed upon them and upon me. How pleasantly theyliveagain in my memory! Happy, magical Past, in whose fairy atmosphere evenConway, mine ancient foe,stands forth transfigured, with a sort ofdreamy glory encircling his bright red hair!With the old schoolformula I commence these sketches of my boyhood. Myname is Tom Bailey; what is yours, gentlereader? I take for grantedit is neither Wiggins nor Spriggins, and that we shall get on famouslytogether,and be capital friends forever.Chapter Two--In Which I Entertain Peculiar ViewsI was born at Rivermouth,but, before I had a chance to become very wellacquainted with that pretty New England town, myparents removed to NewOrleans, where my father invested his money so securely in the bankingbusiness