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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Purple Cloud, by M.P. ShielThis 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 Purple CloudAuthor: M.P. ShielRelease Date: February 22, 2004 [EBook#11229]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PURPLE CLOUD***Produced by Suzanne Shell, Garrett Alley, Maria Khomenko and PGDistributed ProofreadersTHEPURPLE CLOUDByM.P. Shiel1901[Greek: estai kai Samos ammos, eseitai Daelos adaelos]_SibyllineProphecy_INTRODUCTIONAbout three months ago--that is to say, toward the end of May of thisyear of1900--the writer whose name appears on the title-page receivedas noteworthy a letter, and packet ofpapers, as it has been his lot toexamine. They came from a very good friend of mine, whose name thereisno reason that I should now conceal--Dr. Arthur Lister Browne, M.A.(Oxon.), F.R.C.P. It happened thatfor two years I had been spendingmost of my time in France, and as Browne had a Norfolk practice, Ihadnot seen him during my visits to London. Moreover, though our friendshipwas of the most intimatekind, we were both atrocious correspondents: sothat only two notes passed between us during thoseyears.Till, last May, there reached me the letter--and the packet--to which Irefer. The packet consisted offour note-books, quite crowdedthroughout with those giddy shapes of Pitman's shorthand,whose_ensemble_ so resembles startled swarms hovering in flighty poses on thewing. They werescribbled in pencil, with little distinction betweenthick and thin strokes, few vowels: so that their slowdeciphering, Ican assure the reader, has been no holiday. The letter also waspencilled in shorthand; andthis letter, together with the second of thenote-books which I have deciphered (it was marked 'III.'), Inowpublish.[I must say, however, that in some five instances there will occursentences rather crutchedby my own guess-work; and in two instances thecharacters were so impossibly mystical, that I had toabandon thepassage with a head-ache. But all this will be found immaterial to thegeneral narrative.]Thefollowing is Browne's letter:'DEAR OLD SHIEL,--I have just been lying thinking of you, and wishingthatyou were here to give one a last squeeze of the hand beforeI--"_go_": for, by all appearance, "going" Iam. Four days ago, I beganto feel a soreness in the throat, and passing by old Johnson's surgeryatSelbridge, went in and asked him to have a look at me. He mutteredsomething about membranouslaryngitis which made me smile, but by thetime I reached home I was hoarse, and not smiling: beforenight I haddyspnoca and laryngeal stridor. I at once telegraphed to London forMorgan, and, between himand Johnson, they have been opening my trachea,and burning my inside with chromic acid and thegalvanic cautery. Thedifficulty as to breathing has subsided, and it is wonderful how littleI suffer: but Iam much too old a hand not to know what's what: thebronchi are involved--_too far_ involved--and as amatter of absolutefact, there isn't any hope. Morgan is still, I believe, fondly dwellingupon the possibilityof adding me to his successful-tracheotomystatistics, but prognosis was always my strong point, and Isay No. Thevery small consolation of my death will be the beating of a specialistin his own line. So weshall see.'I have been arranging some of my affairs this morning, and rememberedthese notebooks. Iintended letting you have them months ago, but myhabit of putting things off, and the fact that the ladywas alive fromwhom I took down the words, prevented me. Now she is dead, and as aliterary man, and astudent of life, you should be interested, if youcan manage to read them. You may even find themvaluable.'I am under a little morphia at present, propped up in a nice littlestate of languor, and as I amable to write without much effort, I willtell you in the old Pitman's something about her. Her name wasMiss MaryWilson; she was about thirty when I met her, forty-five when she died,and I knew herintimately all those fifteen years. Do you know anythingabout the philosophy of the hypnotic trance?Well, that was the relationbetween us--hypnotist and subject. She had been under another manbeforemy time, but no one was ever so successful with her as I. She sufferedfrom _tic douloureux_ of thefifth nerve. She had had most of her teethdrawn before I saw her, and an attempt had been made towrench out thenerve on the left side by the external scission. But it made nodifference: all the clocks inhell tick-tacked in that poor woman's jaw,and it was the mercy of Providence that ever she came across


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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Story of Miss Moppet, by Beatrix PotterThis 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.netTitle: The Story of Miss MoppetAuthor: Beatrix PotterRelease Date: January 31, 2005[EBook #14848]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OFMISS MOPPET ***Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Melissa Er-Raqabi and the PG OnlineDistributedProofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net).[Illustration][Illustration]THE STORY OF MISS MOPPETBYBEATRIX POTTER_Author of "The Tale of Peter Rabbit," etc_[Illustration]FREDERICK WARNEFirstpublished 19061906 by Frederick Warne & Co.Printed and bound in Great Britain byWilliam ClowesLimited, Beccles and London[Illustration]This is a Pussy called Miss Moppet, she thinks she has heard amouse!This is the Mouse peeping out behind the cupboard, and making fun of MissMoppet. He is notafraid of a kitten.[Illustration][Illustration]This is Miss Moppet jumping just too late; she misses theMouse and hitsher own head.She thinks it is a very hard cupboard![Illustration][Illustration]The Mousewatches Miss Moppet from the top of the cupboard.Miss Moppet ties up her head in a duster, and sitsbefore the fire.[Illustration]The Mouse thinks she is looking very ill. He comes sliding downthebell-pull.[Illustration][Illustration]Miss Moppet looks worse and worse. The Mouse comes a littlenearer.[Illustration]Miss Moppet holds her poor head in her paws, and looks at him through ahole in theduster. The Mouse comes _very_ close.And then all of a sudden--Miss Moppet jumps upon theMouse![Illustration][Illustration]And because the Mouse has teased Miss Moppet--Miss Moppet thinks shewilltease the Mouse; which is not at all nice of Miss Moppet.She ties him up in the duster, and tosses itabout like a ball.[Illustration]But she forgot about that hole in the duster; and when she untiedit--therewas no Mouse![Illustration][Illustration]He has wriggled out and run away; and he is dancing a jig on thetop ofthe cupboard!End of Project Gutenberg's The Story of Miss Moppet, by Beatrix Potter*** END OFTHIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF MISS MOPPET ******** This file should be named14848.txt or 14848.zip *****This and all associated files of various formats will be foundin:        http://www.gutenberg.net/1/4/8/4/14848/Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Melissa Er-Raqabi andthe PG OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net).Updated editions will replace theprevious one--the old editionswill be renamed.Creating the works from public domain print editionsmeans that noone owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation(and you!) can copyand distribute it in the United States withoutpermission and without paying copyright royalties.  Specialrules,set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply tocopying and distributing ProjectGutenberg-tm electronic works toprotect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept andtrademark.  ProjectGutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if youcharge for theeBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If youdo not charge anything for copies of this eBook,complying with therules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purposesuch as creation ofderivative works, reports, performances andresearch.  They may be modified and printed and givenaway--you may dopractically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution issubject to thetrademark license, especially commercialredistribution.*** START: FULL LICENSE ***THE FULL PROJECTGUTENBERG LICENSEPLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORKTo protect theProject Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the freedistribution of electronic works, by using ordistributing this work(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "ProjectGutenberg"), youagree to comply with all the terms of the Full ProjectGutenberg-tm License (available with this file oronline athttp://gutenberg.net/license).Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing ProjectGutenberg-tmelectronic works1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tmelectronicwork, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree toand accept all the terms of this license andintellectual property(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by allthe terms ofthis agreement, you must cease using and return or destroyall copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronicworks in your possession.If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a ProjectGutenberg-tm


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Fanshawe, by Nathaniel HawthorneThis 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: FanshaweAuthor: Nathaniel HawthornePosting Date: September 13, 2014 [EBook#7085]Release Date: December, 2004First Posted: March 8, 2003Language: English*** START OF THISPROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANSHAWE ***Produced by Eric Eldred, Charles Franks and theOnlineDistributed Proofreading Team.FANSHAWEBYNATHANIELHAWTHORNE[Illustration]INTRODUCTORY NOTE.FANSHAWE.In 1828, three years after graduating fromBowdoin College, Hawthornepublished his first romance, "Fanshawe." It was issued at Boston by Marsh&Capen, but made little or no impression on the public. The motto on thetitle-page of the original was fromSouthey: "Wilt thou go on with me?"Afterwards, when he had struck into the vein of fiction that came tobeknown as distinctively his own, he attempted to suppress this youthfulwork, and was so successful thathe obtained and destroyed all but a fewof the copies then extant.Some twelve years after his death it wasresolved, in view of the interestmanifested in tracing the growth of his genius from the beginning ofhisactivity as an author, to revive this youthful romance; and the reissue of"Fanshawe" was thenmade.Little biographical interest attaches to it, beyond the fact that Mr.Longfellow found in thedescriptions and general atmosphere of the book adecided suggestion of the situation of Bowdoin College,at Brunswick,Maine, and the life there at the time when he and Hawthorne were bothundergraduates ofthat institution.Professor Packard, of Bowdoin College, who was then in charge of the studyof Englishliterature, and has survived both of his illustrious pupils,recalls Hawthorne's exceptional excellence in thecomposition of English,even at that date (1821-1825); and it is not impossible that Hawthorneintended,through the character of Fanshawe, to present some faintprojection of what he then thought might be hisown obscure history. Evenwhile he was in college, however, and meditating perhaps the slenderelementsof this first romance, his fellow-student Horatio Bridge, whose"Journal of an African Cruiser" heafterwards edited, recognized in himthe possibilities of a writer of fiction--a fact to whichHawthornealludes in the dedicatory Preface to "The Snow-Image."G. P.L.FANSHAWE       *       *       *       *       *CHAPTER I.  "Our court shall be a littleAcademe."--SHAKESPEARE.In an ancient though not very populous settlement, in a retired corner ofoneof the New England States, arise the walls of a seminary of learning,which, for the convenience of aname, shall be entitled "Harley College."This institution, though the number of its years isinconsiderablecompared with the hoar antiquity of its European sisters, is not withoutsome claims toreverence on the score of age; for an almost countlessmultitude of rivals, by many of which its reputationhas been eclipsed,have sprung up since its foundation. At no time, indeed, during anexistence of nearly acentury, has it acquired a very extensive fame; andcircumstances, which need not be particularized,have, of late years,involved it in a deeper obscurity. There are now few candidates for thedegrees thatthe college is authorized to bestow. On two of its annual"Commencement Days," there has been a totaldeficiency of baccalaureates;and the lawyers and divines, on whom doctorates in theirrespectiveprofessions are gratuitously inflicted, are not accustomed to consider thedistinction as anhonor. Yet the sons of this seminary have alwaysmaintained their full share of reputation, in whateverpaths of life theytrod. Few of them, perhaps, have been deep and finished scholars; but thecollege hassupplied--what the emergencies of the country demanded--a setof men more useful in its present state,and whose deficiency intheoretical knowledge has not been found to imply a want of practicalability.Thelocal situation of the college, so far secluded from the sight andsound of the busy world, is peculiarlyfavorable to the moral, if not tothe literary, habits of its students; and this advantage probably causedthefounders to overlook the inconveniences that were inseparablyconnected with it. The humble edifices rearthemselves almost at thefarthest extremity of a narrow vale, which, winding through a long extentof


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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Last Chronicle of Barset, by AnthonyTrollopeThis 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.orgTitle: The Last Chronicle of BarsetAuthor: Anthony TrollopeRelease Date: January,2002  [eBook #3045][Most recently updated: December 1, 2010]Language: English***START OF THEPROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAST CHRONICLE OF BARSET***E-text prepared by Kenneth DavidCooperand revised by Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version ofthis file      which includes the 64 illustrations by George Housman Thomas      from the First Edition(Smith, Elder and Co., 1867).      See 3045-h.htm or 3045-h.zip:      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/3045/3045-h/3045-h.htm)      or      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/3045/3045-h.zip)THE LASTCHRONICLE OF BARSETbyANTHONY TROLLOPEFirst published in monthly installments from December 1,1866, toJuly 6, 1867, and in book form in 1867[Illustration: Mr. Crawley before the Magistrates.(Frontispiece)]CONTENTS         I. How Did He Get It?        II. By Heavens He Had Better Not!       III. TheArchdeacon's Threat        IV. The Clergyman's House at Hogglestock         V. What the World ThoughtAbout It        VI. Grace Crawley       VII. Miss Prettyman's Private Room      VIII. Mr. Crawley Is Taken toSilverbridge        IX. Grace Crawley Goes to Allington         X. Dinner at Framley Court        XI. TheBishop Sends His Inhibition       XII. Mr. Crawley Seeks for Sympathy      XIII. The Bishop'sAngel       XIV. Major Grantly Consults a Friend        XV. Up in London       XVI. Down atAllington      XVII. Mr. Crawley Is Summoned to Barchester     XVIII. The Bishop of Barchester IsCrushed       XIX. Where Did It Come From?        XX. What Mr. Walker Thought About It       XXI. Mr.Robarts on His Embassy      XXII. Major Grantly at Home     XXIII. Miss Lily Dale's Resolution      XXIV.Mrs. Dobbs Broughton's Dinner-party       XXV. Miss Madalina Demolines      XXVI. The Picture     XXVII.A Hero at Home    XXVIII. Showing How Major Grantly Took a Walk      XXIX. Miss Lily Dale'sLogic       XXX. Showing What Major Grantly Did After His Walk      XXXI. Showing How Major GrantlyReturned to Guestwick     XXXII. Mr. Toogood    XXXIII. The Plumstead Foxes     XXXIV. Mrs. ProudieSends for Her Lawyer      XXXV. Lily Dale Writes Two Words in Her Book     XXXVI. Grace Crawley ReturnsHome    XXXVII. Hook Court   XXXVIII. Jael     XXXIX. A New Flirtation        XL. Mr. Toogood's IdeasAbout Society       XLI. Grace Crawley at Home      XLII. Mr. Toogood Travels Professionally     XLIII. Mr.Crosbie Goes into the City      XLIV. "I Suppose I Must Let You Have It"       XLV. Lily Dale Goes toLondon      XLVI. The Bayswater Romance     XLVII. Dr. Tempest at the Palace    XLVIII. The Softness ofSir Raffle Buffle      XLIX. Near the Close         L. Lady Lufton's Proposition        LI. Mrs. Dobbs BroughtonPiles Her Fagots       LII. Why Don't You Have an "It" for Yourself?      LIII. Rotten Row       LIV. TheClerical Commission        LV. Framley Parsonage       LVI. The Archdeacon Goes to Framley      LVII. ADouble Pledge     LVIII. The Cross-grainedness of Men       LIX. A Lady Presents Her Compliments to MissL. D.        LX. The End of Jael and Sisera       LXI. "It's Dogged as Does It"      LXII. Mr. Crawley's Letterto the Dean     LXIII. Two Visitors to Hogglestock      LXIV. The Tragedy in Hook Court       LXV. Miss VanSiever Makes Her Choice      LXVI. Requiescat in Pace     LXVII. In Memoriam    LXVIII. The Obstinacy ofMr. Crawley      LXIX. Mr. Crawley's Last Appearance in His Own Pulpit       LXX. Mrs. Arabin IsCaught      LXXI. Mr. Toogood at Silverbridge     LXXII. Mr. Toogood at "The Dragon of Wantly"    LXXIII.There Is Comfort at Plumstead     LXXIV. The Crawleys Are Informed      LXXV. Madalina's Heart IsBleeding     LXXVI. I Think He Is Light of Heart    LXXVII. The Shattered Tree   LXXVIII. The ArabinsReturn to Barchester     LXXIX. Mr. Crawley Speaks of His Coat      LXXX. Miss Demolines Desires toBecome a Finger-post     LXXXI. Barchester Cloisters    LXXXII. The Last Scene at Hogglestock   LXXXIII.Mr. Crawley Is Conquered    LXXXIV. ConclusionTITLED ILLUSTRATIONS   Mr. Crawley before theMagistrates.           Frontispiece   Mr. and Mrs. Crawley.                         Chapter I   "I love you asthough you were my own,"      said the Schoolmistress.                   Chapter VI   "A convicted thief,"repeated Mrs. Proudie.   Chapter XI   "Speak out, Dan."                             Chapter XII   Grace Crawleyis introduced to Squire Dale.   Chapter XVI   Farmer Mangle and Mr. Crawley.                Chapter


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Child Christopher, by William MorrisThis 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: Child ChristopherAuthor: William MorrisRelease Date: July 1, 2008 [EBook#234]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHILD CHRISTOPHER***Produced by John HammCHILD CHRISTOPHER AND GOLDILIND THE FAIRby WilliamMorris1895CHAPTER I. OF THE KING OF OAKENREALM, AND HIS WIFE AND HIS CHILD.Of old there was aland which was so much a woodland, that a minstrelthereof said it that a squirrel might go from end toend, and all about,from tree to tree, and never touch the earth: therefore was that landcalledOakenrealm.The lord and king thereof was a stark man, and so great a warrior thatin his youth he tookno delight in aught else save battle and tourneys.But when he was hard on forty years old, he cameacross a daughter ofa certain lord, whom he had vanquished, and his eyes bewrayed himinto longing, sothat he gave back to the said lord the havings he hadconquered of him that he might lay the maiden inhis kingly bed. So hebrought her home with him to Oakenrealm and wedded her.Tells the tale that herued not his bargain, but loved her so dearlythat for a year round he wore no armour, save when shebade him play inthe tilt-yard for her desport and pride.So wore the days till she went with child and wasnear her time, andthen it betid that three kings who marched on Oakenrealm banded themtogetheragainst him, and his lords and thanes cried out on him to leadthem to battle, and it behoved him to do asthey would.So he sent out the tokens and bade an hosting at his chief city, andwhen all was ready hesaid farewell to his wife and her babe unborn, andwent his ways to battle once more: but fierce was hisheart against thefoemen, that they had dragged him away from his love and his joy.Even amidst of hisland he joined battle with the host of the ravagers,and the tale of them is short to tell, for they were asthe wheat beforethe hook. But as he followed up the chase, a mere thrall of the fleersturned on him andcast his spear, and it reached him whereas his hawberkwas broken, and stood deep in, so that he fell toearth unmighty: andwhen his lords and chieftains drew about him, and cunning men strove toheal him, itwas of no avail, and he knew that his soul was departing.Then he sent for a priest, and for the Marshal ofthe host, who was agreat lord, and the son of his father's brother, and in few words badehim look to thebabe whom his wife bore about, and if it were a man, tocherish him and do him to learn all that a kingought to know; and if itwere a maiden, that he should look to her wedding well and worthily: andhe letswear him on his sword, on the edges and the hilts, that he woulddo even so, and be true unto his child ifchild there were: and he badehim have rule, if so be the lords would, and all the people, till thechild wereof age to be king: and the Marshal swore, and all the lordswho stood around bare witness to his swearing.Thereafter the priesthouselled the King, and he received his Creator, and a little whileafter his souldeparted.But the Marshal followed up the fleeing foe, and two battles more hefought before he beat themflat to earth; and then they craved forpeace, and he went back to the city in mickle honour.But in theKing's city of Oakenham he found but little joy; for boththe King was bemoaned, whereas he had been nohard man to his folk; andalso, when the tidings and the King's corpse came back to Oakenrealm,his Ladyand Queen took sick for sorrow and fear, and fell into labourof her child, and in childing of a man-bairnshe died, but the ladlived, and was like to do well.So there was one funeral for the slain King and for herwhom his slayinghad slain: and when that was done, the little king was borne to thefont, and at hischristening he gat to name Christopher.Thereafter the Marshal summoned all them that were due theretoto comeand give homage to the new king, and even so did they, though he werebut a babe, yea, and whohad but just now been a king lying in hismother's womb. But when the homage was done, then theMarshal calledtogether the wise men, and told them how the King that was had given himin charge hisson as then unborn, and the ruling of the realm till thesaid son were come to man's estate: but he badethem seek one worthierif they had heart to gainsay the word of their dying lord. Then all theysaid that hewas worthy and mighty and the choice of their dear lord,and that they would have none but he.So thenwas the great folk-mote called, and the same matter was laidbefore all the people, and none said aught


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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Laodicean, by Thomas HardyThis 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: A LaodiceanAuthor: Thomas HardyPosting Date: February 9, 2009 [EBook#3258]Release Date: June, 2002Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALAODICEAN ***Produced by Les BowlerA LAODICEAN: A STORY OF TO-DAYBy ThomasHardyCONTENTS.   PREFACE                                          CHAPTERS   BOOK THE FIRST.   GEORGESOMERSET.               I - XV.   BOOK THE SECOND.  DARE AND HAVILL.               I - VII.   BOOK THETHIRD.   DE STANCY.                     I - XI.   BOOK THE FOURTH.  SOMERSET, DARE, AND DE STANCY. I -V.   BOOK THE FIFTH.   DE STANCY AND PAULA.           I - XIV.   BOOK THESIXTH.   PAULA.                         I - V.PREFACE.The changing of the old order in country manors andmansions may beslow or sudden, may have many issues romantic or otherwise, its romanticissues beingnot necessarily restricted to a change back to the originalorder; though this admissible instance appearsto have been the onlyromance formerly recognized by novelists as possible in the case.Whether thefollowing production be a picture of other possibilities ornot, its incidents may be taken to be fairly wellsupported by evidenceevery day forthcoming in most counties.The writing of the tale was renderedmemorable to two persons, at least,by a tedious illness of five months that laid hold of the authorsoonafter the story was begun in a well-known magazine; during whichperiod the narrative had to bestrenuously continued by dictation to apredetermined cheerful ending.As some of these novels of Wessexlife address themselves moreespecially to readers into whose souls the iron has entered, and whoseyearshave less pleasure in them now than heretofore, so "A Laodicean"may perhaps help to while away an idleafternoon of the comfortable oneswhose lines have fallen to them in pleasant places; above all, ofthatlarge and happy section of the reading public which has not yet reachedripeness of years; those towhom marriage is the pilgrim's Eternal City,and not a milestone on the way. T.H.January 1896.BOOK THEFIRST. GEORGE SOMERSET.I.The sun blazed down and down, till it was within half-an-hour of itssetting;but the sketcher still lingered at his occupation of measuringand copying the chevroned doorway--a boldand quaint example of atransitional style of architecture, which formed the tower entrance toan Englishvillage church. The graveyard being quite open on its westernside, the tweed-clad figure of the youngdraughtsman, and the tall massof antique masonry which rose above him to a battlemented parapet,werefired to a great brightness by the solar rays, that crossed theneighbouring mead like a warp of goldthreads, in whose mazes groups ofequally lustrous gnats danced and wailed incessantly.He was soabsorbed in his pursuit that he did not mark the brilliantchromatic effect of which he composed thecentral feature, till it wasbrought home to his intelligence by the warmth of the moulded stoneworkunderhis touch when measuring; which led him at length to turn his headand gaze on its cause.There are fewin whom the sight of a sunset does not beget as muchmeditative melancholy as contemplative pleasure,the human decline anddeath that it illustrates being too obvious to escape the notice ofthe simplestobserver. The sketcher, as if he had been brought to thisreflection many hundreds of times before by thesame spectacle, showedthat he did not wish to pursue it just now, by turning away his faceafter a fewmoments, to resume his architectural studies.He took his measurements carefully, and as if hereverenced the oldworkers whose trick he was endeavouring to acquire six hundred yearsafter theoriginal performance had ceased and the performers passed intothe unseen. By means of a strip of leadcalled a leaden tape, whichhe pressed around and into the fillets and hollows with his finger andthumb,he transferred the exact contour of each moulding to his drawing,that lay on a sketching-stool a few feetdistant; where were also asketching-block, a small T-square, a bow-pencil, and othermathematicalinstruments. When he had marked down the line thus fixed, he returned tothe doorway tocopy another as before.It being the month of August, when the pale face of the townsman andthestranger is to be seen among the brown skins of remotest uplanders,not only in England, butthroughout the temperate zone, few of thehomeward-bound labourers paused to notice him further than


ï»¿Project Gutenberg's The Tale of Mrs. Tittlemouse, by Beatrix PotterThis 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 Tale of Mrs. TittlemouseAuthor: Beatrix PotterRelease Date: November 18,2005 [EBook #17089]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TALE OFMRS. TITTLEMOUSE ***Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Emmy and the OnlineDistributed ProofreadingTeam at http://www.pgdp.net[Illustration: Mrs. Tittlemouse & Bees]THE TALE OF MRS. TITTLEMOUSEByBEATRIX POTTERAuthor of "The Tale of Peter Rabbit" etc.[Illustration: Mrs. Tittlemouse &Butterfly]FREDERICK WARNEFREDERICK WARNEPenguin Books Ltd, Harmondsworth, Middlesex,EnglandViking Penguin Inc., 40 West 23rd Street, New York, New York 10010, U.S.A.Penguin BooksAustralia Ltd, Ringwood, Victoria, AustraliaPenguin Books Canada Ltd, 2801 John Street, Markham,Ontario, Canada L3R 1B4Penguin Books (N.Z.) Ltd, 182-190 Wairau Road, Auckland 10, New ZealandFirstpublished 1910This impression 1985Universal Copyright Notice:Copyright Â© 1910 by Frederick Warne &Co.Copyright in all countries signatory to the Berne Convention          All rights reserved. Without limitingthe rights          under copyright reserved above, no part of this          publication may be reproduced,stored in or          introduced into a retrieval system, or          transmitted, in any form or by anymeans          (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording          or otherwise), without the priorwritten          permission of both the copyright owner and the          above publisher of this book.Printedand bound in Great Britain byWilliam Clowes Limited, Beccles and LondonNELLIE'SLITTLEBOOK[Illustration: Mrs. Tittlemouse at the Door]Once upon a time there was a wood-mouse, and hername was Mrs.Tittlemouse.She lived in a bank under a hedge.Such a funny house! There were yards andyards of sandy passages,leading to storerooms and nut-cellars and seed-cellars, all amongst theroots ofthe hedge.[Illustration: In the pantry][Illustration: In bed]There was a kitchen, a parlour, a pantry, and alarder.Also, there was Mrs. Tittlemouse's bedroom, where she slept in a littlebox bed!Mrs. Tittlemousewas a most terribly tidy particular little mouse,always sweeping and dusting the soft sandyfloors.Sometimes a beetle lost its way in the passages."Shuh! shuh! little dirty feet!" said Mrs.Tittlemouse, clattering herdust-pan.[Illustration: Shooing a beetle][Illustration: A ladybird]And one day alittle old woman ran up and down in a red spotty cloak."Your house is on fire, Mother Ladybird! Fly awayhome to yourchildren!"Another day, a big fat spider came in to shelter from the rain."Beg pardon, is thisnot Miss Muffet's?""Go away, you bold bad spider! Leaving ends of cobweb all over my nicecleanhouse!"[Illustration: Spider][Illustration: Out the window]She bundled the spider out at a window.He lethimself down the hedge with a long thin bit of string.Mrs. Tittlemouse went on her way to a distantstoreroom, to fetchcherry-stones and thistle-down seed for dinner.All along the passage she sniffed, andlooked at the floor."I smell a smell of honey; is it the cowslips outside, in the hedge? Iam sure I can seethe marks of little dirty feet."[Illustration: Marks of little feet][Illustration: Babbitty Bumble]Suddenlyround a corner, she met Babbitty Bumble--"Zizz, Bizz, Bizzz!"said the bumble bee.Mrs. Tittlemouselooked at her severely. She wished that she had abroom."Good-day, Babbitty Bumble; I should be glad tobuy some beeswax. Butwhat are you doing down here? Why do you always come in at a window, andsayZizz, Bizz, Bizzz?" Mrs. Tittlemouse began to get cross."Zizz, Wizz, Wizzz!" replied Babbitty Bumble in apeevish squeak. Shesidled down a passage, and disappeared into a storeroom which had beenused foracorns.Mrs. Tittlemouse had eaten the acorns before Christmas; the storeroomought to have beenempty.But it was full of untidy dry moss.[Illustration: Full of moss][Illustration: Bees nest]Mrs.Tittlemouse began to pull out the moss. Three or four other beesput their heads out, and buzzedfiercely."I am not in the habit of letting lodgings; this is an intrusion!" saidMrs. Tittlemouse. "I will havethem turned out--" "Buzz! Buzz!Buzzz!"--"I wonder who would help me?" "Bizz, Wizz, Wizzz!"--"I will nothave Mr. Jackson; he never wipes his feet."Mrs. Tittlemouse decided to leave the bees till afterdinner.When she got back to the parlour, she heard some one coughing in a fatvoice; and there sat Mr.Jackson himself!He was sitting all over a small rocking-chair, twiddling his thumbs andsmiling, with his


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Abbe Mouretâs Transgression, by Emile ZolaThis 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.orgTitle: Abbe Mouretâs Transgression       La Faute De Lâabbe MouretAuthor:Emile ZolaEditor: Ernest Alfred VizetellyRelease Date: November 28, 2004 [EBook #14200]Posting Date:May 29, 2009Last Updated: September 5, 2016Language: EnglishCharacter set encoding: UTF-8***START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ABBE MOURETâS TRANSGRESSION ***Produced byDagny; and David WidgerABBE MOURETâS TRANSGRESSIONBy Emile ZolaEdited with an Introductionby Ernest Alfred VizetellyINTRODUCTIONâLA FAUTE DE LâABBE MOURETâ was, with respectto the date ofpublication, the fourth volume of M. Zolaâs âRougon-Macquartâ series;but inthe amended and final scheme of that great literary undertaking,it occupies the ninth place. It proceedsfrom the sixth volume of theseries, âThe Conquest of Plassans;â which is followed by the twoworksthat deal with the career of Octave Mouret, Abbe Serge Mouretâs elderbrother. In âTheConquest of Plassans,â Serge and his half-wittedsister, Desiree, are seen in childhood at their homein Plassans, whichis wrecked by the doings of a certain Abbe Faujas and his relatives.Serge Mouret growsup, is called by an instinctive vocation to thepriesthood, and becomes parish priest of Les Artaud, awell-nigh paganhamlet in one of those bare, burning stretches of country with whichProvence abounds.And here it is that âLa Faute de lâAbbe Mouretâ opensin the old ruinous church, perched upona hillock in full view of thesqualid village, the arid fields, and the great belts of rock which shutin thelandscape all around.There are two elements in this remarkable story, which, from thestandpoint ofliterary style, has never been excelled by anything thatM. Zola has since written; and one may glance atit therefore from twopoints of view. Taking it under its sociological and religious aspect,it will be found tobe an indirect indictment of the celibacy of thepriesthood; that celibacy, contrary to Natureâsfundamental law, whichassuredly has largely influenced the destinies of the Roman CatholicChurch. Tothat celibacy, and to all the evils that have sprang fromit, may be ascribed much of the irreligion currentin France to-day.The periodical reports on criminality issued by the French Ministers ofJustice since thefoundation of the Republic in 1871, supply materialsfor a most formidable indictment of that vow ofperpetual chastity whichRome exacts from her clergy. Nowadays it is undoubtedly too late forRome to goback upon that vow and thereby transform the whole of hersacerdotal organisation; but, perhaps, hadshe done so in past times,before the spirit of inquiry and free examination came into being, shemighthave assured herself many more centuries of supremacy than havefallen to her lot. But she has eversought to dissociate the law of theDivinity from the law of Nature, as though indeed the latter werebutthe invention of the Fiend.Abbe Mouret, M. Zolaâs hero, finds himself placed between the lawofthe Divinity and the law of Nature: and the struggle waged within him bythose two forces is a terribleone. That which training has implantedin his mind proves the stronger, and, so far as the canons of theChurchcan warrant it, he saves his soul. But the problem is not quite franklyput by M. Zola; for if AbbeMouret transgresses he does so unwittingly,at a time when he is unconscious of his priesthood and hasno memory ofany vow. When the truth flashes upon him he is horrified with himself,and forthwith returnsto the Church. A further struggle between thecontending forces then certainly ensues, and ends in thefinal victoryof the Church. But it must at least be said that in the lapses whichoccur in real life among theRoman priesthood, the circumstances arealtogether different from those which M. Zola has selected forhisstory.The truth is that in âLa Faute de lâAbbe Mouret,â betwixt lifelikeglimpses of Frenchrural life, the author transports us to a realm ofpoesy and imagination. This is, indeed, so true that hehas introducedinto his work all the ideas on which he had based an early unfinishedpoem calledâGenesis.â He carries us to an enchanted garden,the Paradou--a name which one need hardlysay is Provencal forParadise*--and there Serge Mouret, on recovering from brain fever,becomes, as itwere, a new Adam by the side of a new Eve, the fair andwinsome Albine. All this part of the book, then, ispoetry in prose.The author has remembered the ties which link Rousseau to the realisticschool of fiction,


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ï»¿Project Gutenberg's Stories from Pentamerone, by Giambattista BasileThis 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: Stories from PentameroneAuthor: Giambattista BasilePosting Date: March 1,2009 [EBook #2198]Release Date: May, 2000Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECTGUTENBERG EBOOK STORIES FROM PENTAMERONE ***Produced by Batsy Bybell.  HTML version by AlHaines.Stories from PentameronebyGiambattista BasileNOTEThe collection of folk-tales known as IlPentamerone was firstpublished at Naples and in the Neopolitan dialect, by GiambattistaBasile, Conte diTorrone, who is believed to have collected themchiefly in Crete and Venice, and to have died about theyear 1637.CONTENTS  1.  How the Tales came to be told  2.  TheMyrtle  3.  Peruonto  4.  Vardiello  5.  The Flea  6.  Cenerentola  7.  The Merchant  8.  Goat-Face  9.  TheEnchanted Doe 10. Parsley 11. The Three Sisters 12. Violet 13. Pippo 14. The Serpent 15. The She-Bear16. The Dove 17. Cannetella 18. Corvetto 19. The Booby 20. The Stone in the Cock's Head 21. The ThreeEnchanted Princes 22. The Dragon 23. The Two Cakes 24. The Seven Doves 25. The Raven 26. TheMonths 27. Pintosmalto 28. The Golden Root 29. Sun, Moon, and Talia 30. Nennillo and Nennella 31. TheThree Citrons 32. ConclusionIHOW THE TALES CAME TO BE TOLDIt is an old saying, that he who seekswhat he should not, finds whathe would not. Every one has heard of the ape who, in trying to pull onhisboots, was caught by the foot. And it happened in like manner to awretched slave, who, although shenever had shoes to her feet, wantedto wear a crown on her head. But the straight road is the best;and,sooner or later, a day comes which settles all accounts. At last,having by evil means usurped whatbelonged to another, she fell to theground; and the higher she had mounted, the greater was herfall--asyou shall see.Once upon a time the King of Woody Valley had a daughter named Zoza,who wasnever seen to laugh. The unhappy father, who had no othercomfort in life but this only daughter, leftnothing untried to driveaway her melancholy. So he sent for folks who walk on stilts, fellowswho jumpthrough hoops, for boxers, for conjurers, for jugglers whoperform sleight-of-hand tricks, for strong men,for dancing dogs, forleaping clowns, for the donkey that drinks out of a tumbler--in short,he tried firstone thing and then another to make her laugh. But allwas time lost, for nothing could bring a smile to herlips.So at length the poor father, at wit's end, and to make a last trial,ordered a large fountain of oil to beset in front of the palace gates,thinking to himself that when the oil ran down the street, along whichthepeople passed like a troop of ants, they would be obliged, in ordernot to soil their clothes, to skip likegrasshoppers, leap like goats,and run like hares; while one would go picking and choosing his way,andanother go creeping along the wall. In short, he hoped thatsomething might come to pass to make hisdaughter laugh.So the fountain was made; and as Zoza was one day standing at thewindow, grave anddemure, and looking as sour as vinegar, there came bychance an old woman, who, soaking up the oilwith a sponge, began tofill a little pitcher which she had brought with her. And as she waslabouring hardat this ingenious device, a young page of the courtpassing by threw a stone so exactly to a hair that hehit the pitcherand broke it to pieces. Whereupon the old woman, who had no hair on hertongue, turned tothe page, full of wrath, and exclaimed, "Ah, youimpertinent young dog, you mule, you gallows-rope, youspindle-legs!Ill luck to you! May you be pierced by a Catalan lance! May a thousandills befall you andsomething more to boot, you thief, you knave!"The lad, who had little beard and less discretion, hearingthis stringof abuse, repaid the old woman in her own coin, saying, "Have you done,you grandmother ofwitches, you old hag, you child-strangler!"When the old woman heard these compliments she flew intosuch a ragethat, losing hold of the bridle and escaping from the stable ofpatience, she acted as if shewere mad, cutting capers in the air andgrinning like an ape. At this strange spectacle Zoza burst into suchafit of laughter that she well-nigh fainted away. But when the old womansaw herself played this trick, sheflew into a passion, and turning afierce look on Zoza she exclaimed: "May you never have the leastlittlebit of a husband, unless you take the Prince of Round-Field."Upon hearing this, Zoza ordered the oldwoman to be called; and desiredto know whether, in her words, she had laid on her a curse, or had


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Wailing Asteroid, by Murray LeinsterThis eBook is for the use ofanyone anywhere 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 Wailing AsteroidAuthor: Murray LeinsterRelease Date: September 20, 2015 [EBook#50022]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WAILING ASTEROID***Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team athttp://www.pgdp.net                         THE WAILING ASTEROID                          by MurrayLeinster                           An Avon Original                          AVON BOOK DIVISION                        TheHearst Corporation                           959 Eighth Avenue                         New York 19, NewYorkCopyright, 1960, by Murray Leinster. Published by arrangement withthe author. Printed in theU.S.A.[Transcriber's Note: Extensive research did not uncover any evidencethat the U.S. copyright onthis publication was renewed.]       *       *       *       *       *There was no life on the asteroid, but themiles of rock-hewn corridorsthrough which the earth party wandered left no doubt about the purposeofthe asteroid.It was a mighty fortress, stocked with weapons of destruction beyondman's power tounderstand.And yet there was no life here, nor had there been for untold centuries.What race had builtthis stronghold? What unimaginable power were theydefending against? Why was it abandoned? Therewas no answer, all wasdead.But--not quite all.For in a room above the tomb-like fortress a powerfultransmitterbeamed its birdlike, fluting sounds toward earth. Near it, on a hugestar-map of the universe,with light-years measured by inches, ten tinyred sparks were moving, crawling inexorably toward thecenter.Moving, at many times the speed of light, with the acquired massof suns ... moving, on a coursethat would pass through the solarsystem.The unknown aliens would not even see our sun explode fromthe forceof their passing, would not even notice the tiny speck called Earth asitdied....       *       *       *       *       *Chapter 1The signals from space began a little after midnight, localtime, on aFriday. They were first picked up in the South Pacific, just westwardof the International DateLine. A satellite-watching station on anisland named Kalua was the first to receive them, though nobodyheardthe first four or five minutes. But it is certain that the very firstmessage was picked up and recordedby the monitor instruments.The satellite-tracking unit on Kalua was practically a duplicate ofall itsfellows. There was the station itself with a vertical antennaoutside pointing at the stars. There werevarious lateral antennaeheld two feet above ground by concrete posts. In the instrument roomin thebuilding a light burned over a desk, three or four monitorlights glowed dimly to indicate that theself-recording instrumentswere properly operating, and there was a multiple-channel tape recorderbuiltinto the wall. Its twin tape reels turned sedately, winding abrown plastic ribbon from one to the other at amoderate pace.The staff man on duty had gone to the installation's kitchen for a cupof coffee. No soundoriginated in the room, unless one counted thefluttering of a piece of weighted-down paper on the desk.Outside,palm trees whispered and rustled their long fronds in the southeasttrade wind under a sky full ofglittering stars. Beyond, there wasthe dull booming of surf upon the barrier reef of the island. Buttheinstruments made no sound. Only the tape reels moved.The signals began abruptly. They came out ofa speaker and wereinstantly recorded. They were elfin and flutelike and musical. Theywere crisp anddistinct. They did not form a melody, but nearly all thecomponents of melody were there. Pure musicalnotes, each with its ownpitch, all of different lengths, like quarter-notes and eighth-notesin music. Thesounds needed only rhythm and arrangement to form aplaintive tune.Nothing happened. The soundscontinued for something over a minute.They stopped long enough to seem to have ended. Then theybegan again.When the staff man came back into the room with a coffee cup in hishand, he heard theflutings instantly. His jaw dropped. He said, "Whatthe hell?" and went to look at the instruments. Hespilled some of hiscoffee when he saw their readings.The tracking dials said that the signals came from astationary sourcealmost directly overhead. If they were from a stationary source,no plane was


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ï»¿Project Gutenberg's The House of the Seven Gables, by Nathaniel HawthorneThis 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.netTitle: The House of the Seven GablesAuthor: Nathaniel HawthorneRelease Date: June17, 2008 [EBook #77]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOUSEOF THE SEVEN GABLES ***Produced by Judith Boss.  HTML version by Al Haines.THE HOUSE OF THESEVEN GABLESbyNATHANIEL HAWTHORNETable of Contents         INTRODUCTORYNOTE         AUTHOR'S PREFACE     I.  THE OLD PYNCHEON FAMILY    II.  THE LITTLESHOP-WINDOW   III.  THE FIRST CUSTOMER    IV.  A DAY BEHIND THE COUNTER     V.  MAY ANDNOVEMBER    VI.  MAULE'S WELL   VII.  THE GUEST  VIII.  THE PYNCHEON OF TO-DAY    IX.  CLIFFORDAND PHOEBE     X.  THE PYNCHEON GARDEN    XI.  THE ARCHED WINDOW   XII.  THEDAGUERREOTYPIST  XIII.  ALICE PYNCHEON   XIV.  PHOEBE'S GOOD-BYE    XV.  THE SCOWL ANDSMILE   XVI.  CLIFFORD'S CHAMBER  XVII.  THE FLIGHT OF TWO OWLS XVIII.  GOVERNORPYNCHEON   XIX.  ALICE'S POSIES    XX.  THE FLOWER OF EDEN   XXI.  THEDEPARTURE                         INTRODUCTORY NOTE.THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES.IN September ofthe year during the February of which Hawthorne hadcompleted "The Scarlet Letter," he began "TheHouse of the SevenGables." Meanwhile, he had removed from Salem to Lenox, in BerkshireCounty,Massachusetts, where he occupied with his family a small redwooden house, still standing at the date ofthis edition, near theStockbridge Bowl."I sha'n't have the new story ready by November,"  he explainedto hispublisher, on the 1st of October, "for I am never good for anything inthe literary way till after thefirst autumnal frost, which hassomewhat such an effect on my imagination that it does on the foliagehereabout me-multiplying and brightening its hues." But by vigorousapplication he was able to complete thenew work about the middle ofthe January following.Since research has disclosed the manner in which theromance isinterwoven with incidents from the history of the Hawthorne family,"The House of the SevenGables" has acquired an interest apart fromthat by which it first appealed to the public. John Hathorne(as thename was then spelled), the great-grandfather of Nathaniel Hawthorne,was a magistrate at Salemin the latter part of the seventeenthcentury, and officiated at the famous trials for witchcraft held there.Itis of record that he used peculiar severity towards a certain womanwho was among the accused; and thehusband of this woman prophesiedthat God would take revenge upon his wife'spersecutors.  Thiscircumstance doubtless furnished a hint for that piece of tradition inthe book whichrepresents a Pyncheon of a former generation as havingpersecuted one Maule, who declared that Godwould give his enemy "bloodto drink." It became a conviction with the Hawthorne family that acurse hadbeen pronounced upon its members, which continued in force inthe time of the romancer; a convictionperhaps derived from therecorded prophecy of the injured woman's husband, just mentioned; and,hereagain, we have a correspondence with Maule's malediction in thestory. Furthermore, there occurs in the"American Note-Books" (August27, 1837), a reminiscence of the author's family, to the followingeffect.Philip English, a character well-known in early Salem annals,was among those who suffered from JohnHathorne's magisterialharshness, and he maintained in consequence a lasting feud with the oldPuritanofficial. But at his death English left daughters, one of whomis said to have married the son of JusticeJohn Hathorne, whom Englishhad declared he would never forgive. It is scarcely necessary to pointouthow clearly this foreshadows the final union of those hereditaryfoes, the Pyncheons and Maules, throughthe marriage of Phoebe andHolgrave. The romance, however, describes the Maules as possessing someofthe traits known to have been characteristic of the Hawthornes: forexample, "so long as any of the racewere to be found, they had beenmarked out from other men--not strikingly, nor as with a sharp line,butwith an effect that was felt rather than spoken of--by anhereditary characteristic of reserve." Thus, whilethe generalsuggestion of the Hawthorne line and its fortunes was followed in theromance, the Pyncheonstaking the place of the author's family, certaindistinguishing marks of the Hawthornes were assigned tothe imaginaryMaule posterity.There are one or two other points which indicate Hawthorne's method


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Cossacks, by Leo TolstoyThis 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 CossacksAuthor: Leo TolstoyTranslator: Louise and Aylmer MaudeReleaseDate: January 18, 2009 [EBook #4761]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERGEBOOK THE COSSACKS ***Produced by Steve Harris, Charles Franks and the OnlineDistributedProofreading Team.THE COSSACKSA Tale of 1852ByLeo Tolstoy (1863)Translated by Louise and AylmerMaudeChapter IAll is quiet in Moscow. The squeak of wheels is seldom heard in thesnow-covered street.There are no lights left in the windows and thestreet lamps have been extinguished. Only the sound ofbells, borneover the city from the church towers, suggests the approach of morning.The streets aredeserted. At rare intervals a night-cabman's sledgekneads up the snow and sand in the street as thedriver makes his wayto another corner where he falls asleep while waiting for a fare. Anold womanpasses by on her way to church, where a few wax candles burnwith a red light reflected on the giltmountings of the icons. Workmenare already getting up after the long winter night and going totheirwork--but for the gentlefolk it is still evening.From a window in Chevalier's Restaurant a light--illegalat thathour--is still to be seen through a chink in the shutter. At theentrance a carriage, a sledge, and acabman's sledge, stand closetogether with their backs to the curbstone. A three-horse sledge fromthepost-station is there also. A yard-porter muffled up and pinchedwith cold is sheltering behind the cornerof the house.'And what's the good of all this jawing?' thinks the footman who sitsin the hall weary andhaggard. 'This always happens when I'm on duty.'From the adjoining room are heard the voices of threeyoung men,sitting there at a table on which are wine and the remains of supper.One, a rather plain, thin,neat little man, sits looking with tiredkindly eyes at his friend, who is about to start on a journey.Another,a tall man, lies on a sofa beside a table on which are empty bottles,and plays with his watch-key.A third, wearing a short, fur-lined coat,is pacing up and down the room stopping now and then to crackan almondbetween his strong, rather thick, but well-tended fingers. He keepssmiling at something andhis face and eyes are all aglow. He speakswarmly and gesticulates, but evidently does not find the wordshe wantsand those that occur to him seem to him inadequate to express what hasrisen to his heart.'NowI can speak out fully,' said the traveller. 'I don't want todefend myself, but I should like you at least tounderstand me as Iunderstand myself, and not look at the matter superficially. You say Ihave treated herbadly,' he continued, addressing the man with thekindly eyes who was watching him.'Yes, you are toblame,' said the latter, and his look seemed toexpress still more kindliness and weariness.'I know whyyou say that,' rejoined the one who was leaving. 'To beloved is in your opinion as great a happiness as tolove, and if a manobtains it, it is enough for his whole life.''Yes, quite enough, my dear fellow, more thanenough!' confirmed theplain little man, opening and shutting his eyes.'But why shouldn't the man lovetoo?' said the traveller thoughtfully,looking at his friend with something like pity. 'Why shouldn't onelove?Because love doesn't come ... No, to be beloved is a misfortune.It is a misfortune to feel guilty becauseyou do not give something youcannot give. O my God!' he added, with a gesture of his arm. 'If itallhappened reasonably, and not all topsy-turvy--not in our way but in away of its own! Why, it's as if Ihad stolen that love! You think sotoo, don't deny it. You must think so. But will you believe it, of allthehorrid and stupid things I have found time to do in my life--andthere are many--this is one I do not andcannot repent of. Neither atthe beginning nor afterwards did I lie to myself or to her. It seemedto me thatI had at last fallen in love, but then I saw that it was aninvoluntary falsehood, and that that was not theway to love, and Icould not go on, but she did. Am I to blame that I couldn't? What was Ito do?''Well, it'sended now!' said his friend, lighting a cigar to master hissleepiness. 'The fact is that you have not yetloved and do not knowwhat love is.'The man in the fur-lined coat was going to speak again, and puthishands to his head, but could not express what he wanted to say.'Never loved! ... Yes, quite true, Inever have! But after all, I havewithin me a desire to love, and nothing could be stronger than thatdesire!But then, again, does such love exist? There always remainssomething incomplete. Ah well! What's the


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pierre and Jean, by Guy de MaupassantThis 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: Pierre and JeanAuthor: Guy de MaupassantTranslator: Clara BellRelease Date:April 12, 2006 [EBook #3804]Last Updated: February 23, 2018Language: EnglishCharacter set encoding:UTF-8*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIERRE AND JEAN ***Produced by Dagny; JohnBickers; HTML file by David WidgerPIERRE & JEANBy Guy De MaupassantTranslated By ClaraBellCHAPTER IâTschah!â exclaimed old Roland suddenly, after he had remainedmotionless for aquarter of an hour, his eyes fixed on the water, whilenow and again he very slightly lifted his line sunk inthe sea.Mme. Roland, dozing in the stern by the side of Mme. Rosemilly, who hadbeen invited to join thefishing-party, woke up, and turning her head tolook at her husband, said:âWell, well!Gerome.âAnd the old fellow replied in a fury:âThey do not bite at all. I have taken nothing sincenoon. Only menshould ever go fishing. Women always delay the start till it is toolate.âHis two sons,Pierre and Jean, who each held a line twisted round hisforefinger, one to port and one to starboard, bothbegan to laugh, andJean remarked:âYou are not very polite to our guest, father.âM. Roland wasabashed, and apologized.âI beg your pardon, Mme. Rosemilly, but that is just like me. I inviteladiesbecause I like to be with them, and then, as soon as I feel thewater beneath me, I think of nothing butthe fish.âMme. Roland was now quite awake, and gazing with a softened look at thewide horizon ofcliff and sea.âYou have had good sport, all the same,â she murmured.But her husband shook hishead in denial, though at the same time heglanced complacently at the basket where the fish caught bythe threemen were still breathing spasmodically, with a low rustle of clammyscales and struggling fins,and dull, ineffectual efforts, gasping inthe fatal air. Old Roland took the basket between his knees andtiltedit up, making the silver heap of creatures slide to the edge that hemight see those lying at thebottom, and their death-throes became moreconvulsive, while the strong smell of their bodies, awholesome reekof brine, came up from the full depths of the creel. The old fishermansniffed it eagerly, aswe smell at roses, and exclaimed:âCristi! But they are fresh enough!â and he went on: âHowmany did youpull out, doctor?âHis eldest son, Pierre, a man of thirty, with black whiskerstrimmedsquare like a lawyer's, his mustache and beard shaved away, replied:âOh, not many; threeor four.âThe father turned to the younger. âAnd you, Jean?â said he.Jean, a tall fellow, muchyounger than his brother, fair, with a fullbeard, smiled and murmured:âMuch the same asPierre--four or five.âEvery time they told the same fib, which delighted father Roland. He hadhitchedhis line round a row-lock, and folding his arms he announced:âI will never again try to fish afternoon. After ten in the morning itis all over. The lazy brutes will not bite; they are taking their siestain thesun.â And he looked round at the sea on all sides, with thesatisfied air of a proprietor.He was aretired jeweller who had been led by an inordinate love ofseafaring and fishing to fly from the shop assoon as he had made enoughmoney to live in modest comfort on the interest of his savings. Heretired tole Havre, bought a boat, and became an amateur skipper.His two sons, Pierre and Jean, had remained atParis to continue theirstudies, and came for the holidays from time to time to share theirfather'samusements.On leaving school, Pierre, the elder, five years older than Jean, hadfelt a vocation to variousprofessions and had tried half a dozen insuccession, but, soon disgusted with each in turn, he startedafreshwith new hopes. Medicine had been his last fancy, and he had set to workwith so much ardour thathe had just qualified after an unusually shortcourse of study, by a special remission of time from theminister. Hewas enthusiastic, intelligent, fickle, but obstinate, full of Utopiasand philosophicalnotions.Jean, who was as fair as his brother was dark, as deliberate as hisbrother was vehement, asgentle as his brother was unforgiving, hadquietly gone through his studies for the law and had just takenhisdiploma as a licentiate, at the time when Pierre had taken his inmedicine. So they were now having alittle rest at home, and both lookedforward to settling in Havre if they could find a satisfactoryopening.But a vague jealousy, one of those dormant jealousies which grow upbetween brothers or sisters


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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Great Stone Face, by Nathaniel HawthorneThis 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.orgTitle: The Great Stone Face       And Other Tales Of The White MountainsAuthor:Nathaniel HawthorneRelease Date: February 25, 2006 [EBook #1916]Language: English*** START OFTHIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT STONE FACE ***Produced by An Anonymous Volunteerand David WidgerTHE GREAT STONE FACE AND OTHER TALES OF THE WHITE MOUNTAINSBy NathanielHawthorne1882CONTENTS     Introduction     The Great Stone Face     The Ambitious Guest     The GreatCarbuncle     Sketches From MemoryINTRODUCTIONTHE first three numbers in this collection are tales ofthe White Hillsin New Hampshire. The passages from Sketches from Memory show thatHawthorne hadvisited the mountains in one of his occasional ramblesfrom home, but there are no entries in his NoteBooks which giveaccounts of such a visit. There is, however, among these notesthe following interestingparagraph, written in 1840 and clearlyforeshadowing The Great Stone Face:'The semblance of a humanface to be formed on the side of a mountain,or in the fracture of a small stone, by a lusus naturae [freakofnature]. The face is an object of curiosity for years or centuries, andby and by a boy is born whosefeatures gradually assume the aspect ofthat portrait. At some critical juncture the resemblance is foundto beperfect. A prophecy may be connected.'It is not impossible that this conceit occurred to Hawthornebefore hehad himself seen the Old Man of the Mountain, or the Profile, in theFranconia Notch which isgenerally associated in the minds of readerswith The Great Stone Face.In The Ambitious Guest he hasmade use of the incident still told totravellers through the Notch, of the destruction of the Willey familyinAugust, 1826. The house occupied by the family was on the slope ofa mountain, and after a long droughtthere was a terrible tempest whichnot only raised the river to a great height but loosened the surfaceofthe mountain so that a great landslide took place. The house was inthe track of the slide, and the familyrushed out of doors. Had theyremained within they would have been safe, for a ledge above thehouseparted the avalanche so that it was diverted into two paths and sweptpast the house on either side.Mr. and Mrs. Willey, their five children,and two hired men were crushed under the weight of earth, rocks,andtrees.In the Sketches from Memory Hawthorne gives an intimation of the talewhich he might writeand did afterward write of The Great Carbuncle. Thepaper is interesting as showing what were the actualexperiences out ofwhich he formed his imaginative stories.THE GREAT STONE FACE and Other Tales OfThe White MountainsTHE GREAT STONE FACEOne afternoon, when the sun was going down, a motherand her little boysat at the door of their cottage, talking about the Great Stone Face.They had but to lifttheir eyes, and there it was plainly to be seen,though miles away, with the sunshine brightening all itsfeatures.And what was the Great Stone Face? Embosomed amongst a family oflofty mountains, there wasa valley so spacious that it contained manythousand inhabitants. Some of these good people dwelt inlog-huts, withthe black forest all around them, on the steep and difficult hillsides.Others had their homesin comfortable farm-houses, and cultivated therich soil on the gentle slopes or level surfaces of thevalley. Others,again, were congregated into populous villages, where some wild,highland rivulet,tumbling down from its birthplace in the uppermountain region, had been caught and tamed by humancunning, andcompelled to turn the machinery of cotton-factories. The inhabitants ofthis valley, in short,were numerous, and of many modes of life. But allof them, grown people and children, had a kind offamiliarity with theGreat Stone Face, although some possessed the gift of distinguishingthis grand naturalphenomenon more perfectly than many of theirneighbors.The Great Stone Face, then, was a work ofNature in her mood of majestieplayfulness, formed on the perpendicular side of a mountain bysomeimmense rocks, which had been thrown together in such a position as,when viewed at a properdistance, precisely to resemble the features ofthe human countenance. It seemed as if an enormousgiant, or a Titan,had sculptured his own likeness on the precipice. There was the broadarch of theforehead, a hundred feet in height; the nose, with its longbridge; and the vast lips, which, if they couldhave spoken, would haverolled their thunder accents from one end of the valley to the other.True it is,


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Fortune of the Rougons, by Emile ZolaThis 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 Fortune of the RougonsAuthor: Emile ZolaEditor: Ernest AlfredVizetellyRelease Date: April 22, 2006 [EBook #5135]Last Updated: September 5, 2016Language:EnglishCharacter set encoding: UTF-8*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FORTUNEOF THE ROUGONS ***Produced by Dagny; John Bickers; David WidgerTHE FORTUNE OF THEROUGONSBy Emile ZolaEdited With Introduction By Ernest Alfred VizetellyINTRODUCTIONâTheFortune of the Rougonsâ is the initial volume of theRougon-Macquart series. Though it was by nomeans M. Zolaâs first essayin fiction, it was undoubtedly his first great bid for genuine literaryfame,and the foundation of what must necessarily be regarded as hislife-work. The idea of writing theânatural and social history of afamily under the Second Empire,â extending to a score ofvolumes, wasdoubtless suggested to M. Zola by Balzacâs immortal âComedie Humaine.â Hewas twenty-eight years of age when this idea first occurred to him;he was fifty-three when he at last sentthe manuscript of his concludingvolume, âDr. Pascal,â to the press. He had spent five-and-twentyyearsin working out his scheme, persevering with it doggedly and stubbornly,whatever rebuffs he mightencounter, whatever jeers and whatever insultsmight be directed against him by the ignorant, theprejudiced, and thehypocritical. Truth was on the march and nothing could stay it; even as,at the presenthour, its march, if slow, none the less continues athwartanother and a different crisis of the illustriousnovelistâs career.It was in the early summer of 1869 that M. Zola first began the actualwriting ofâThe Fortune of the Rougons.â It was only in the followingyear, however, that the serialpublication of the work commenced inthe columns of âLe Siecle,â the Republican journal of mostinfluencein Paris in those days of the Second Empire. The Franco-German warinterrupted this issue of thestory, and publication in book form didnot take place until the latter half of 1871, a time when both thewarand the Commune had left Paris exhausted, supine, with little or nointerest in anything. No moreunfavourable moment for the issue of anambitious work of fiction could have been found. Some two orthreeyears went by, as I well remember, before anything like a revival ofliterature and of public interestin literature took place. Thus, M.Zola launched his gigantic scheme under auspices which would havemademany another man recoil. âThe Fortune of the Rougons,â and two or threesubsequentvolumes of his series, attracted but a moderate degreeof attention, and it was only on the morrow of thepublication ofâLâAssommoirâ that he awoke, like Byron, to find himself famous.As previouslymentioned, the Rougon-Macquart series forms twentyvolumes. The last of these, âDr. Pascal,âappeared in 1893. Sincethen M. Zola has written âLourdes,â âRome,â andâParis.â Critics haverepeated _ad nauseam_ that these last works constitute a new departureonM. Zolaâs part, and, so far as they formed a new series, thisis true. But the suggestion that he has inany way repented of theRougon-Macquart novels is ridiculous. As he has often told me of recentyears, itis, as far as possible, his plan to subordinate his style andmethods to his subject. To have written a booklike âRome,â so largelydevoted to the ambitions of the Papal See, in the same way as hehadwritten books dealing with the drunkenness or other vices of Paris,would have been the climax ofabsurdity.Yet the publication of âRome,â was the signal for a general outcry onthe part of Englishand American reviewers that Zolaism, as typified bythe Rougon-Macquart series, was altogether a thingof the past. To mythinking this is a profound error. M. Zola has always remained faithfulto himself. Theonly difference that I perceive between his latestwork, âParis,â and certain Rougon-Macquartvolumes, is that with time,experience and assiduity, his genius has expanded and ripened, and thatthehesitation, the groping for truth, so to say, which may be found insome of his earlier writings, hasdisappeared.At the time when âThe Fortune of the Rougonsâ was first published, nonebut theauthor himself can have imagined that the foundation-stone ofone of the great literary monuments of thecentury had just been laid.From the âstoryâ point of view the book is one of M. Zolaâs very


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