The Birthday Party

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1862, by
william t. adams,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.

Mother, what ails our Lizzie dear,
So cold and still she lies?
She does not speak a word to-day,
And closed her soft blue eyes.
Why won’t she look at me again,
And laugh and play once more?
I cannot make her look at me
As she used to look before.

Her face and neck as marble white,[Pg 93]
And, O, so very cold!
Why don’t you warm her, mother dear,
Your cloak around her fold?
Her little hand is cold as ice,
Upon her waveless breast,—
So pure, I thought I could see through
The little hand I pressed.

Your darling sister’s dead, my child;
She cannot see you now;
The damps of death are gath’ring there
Upon her marble brow.
She cannot speak to you again,[Pg 94]
Her lips are sealed in death;
That little hand will never move,
Nor come that fleeting breath.

All robed in white, and decked with flowers,
We’ll lay her in the tomb;
The flower that bloomed so sweetly here,
No more on earth will bloom;
But in our hearts we’ll lay her up,
And love her all the more,
Because she died in life’s spring time,
Ere earth had won her o’er.

Nay, nay, my child, she is not dead,[Pg 95]
Although she slumbers there,
And cold and still her marble brow,
And free from pain and care.
She slept, and passed from earth to heaven,
And won her early crown:
An angel now she dwells above,
And looks in triumph down.

She is not dead, for Jesus died
That she might live again.
“Forbid them not,” the Saviour said,
And blessed dear sister then.
Her little lamp this morn went out[Pg 96]
On earth’s time-bounded shore;
But angels bright in heaven this morn
Relighted it once more.

Some time we, too, shall fall asleep,
To wake in heaven above,
And meet our angel Lizzie there
In realms of endless love.
We’ll bear sweet sister in our hearts,
And then there’ll ever be
An angel there to keep our souls
From sin a

The first book in the series of books by author and illustrator John Sullivan, this is the first book to be published by the publisher. It was published in 1862, and is the second book to have been published by Sullivan.

Poppy's family is gathering to celebrate her eightieth birthday. Her children, grandchildren and even one great-grandchild are converging on her Sussex home. As she prepares to welcome them all, her mind goes back over her life - to her tough childhood in Yorkshire, to her mother, who scrimped and saved to bring her up decently, to her three husbands and to Alun, the great love of her life who was taken from her by the war. Yes, she has had a full life - a lot fuller than her family realises. As they toast their beloved matriarch, little do they know what an extraordinary and often shocking li


Daughters of Men: Portraits of African-American Women and Their Fathers

answered. “Nice looking, isn’t he? A very pretty young lady, eh?”
“Don’t be so malicious. Men are always jealous of a handsome boy. You

know how powerfully he appeals to our sympathetic sex. But who is he?”
“Rudolph Ehrenstein—a nephew of Madame von Hohenfels. He has just lost

young ladies will doubtless take compassion on him.”
“Yes, with that pretty face and doleful forsaken[Pg 9] air he will not have

to go far for a willing consoler.”
“It would be the very best thing for him,” said the popular poet,

of delighted horror. “He has the face of an angel.”
“Angels have been known to fall, Madame,” said the poet, with his best

of yourselves or of us.”
“Is there not a proverb to that effect as regards the ladies?”
“Calumny, my friend, pure calumny. Men have had the monopoly of

in the bottom of the proverbial well!”
“I shall seek it henceforth in you, Madame. Can[Pg 10] you tell me if there

Mademoiselle Natzelhuber has an alarming reputation.”
“Oh, yes, abominably eccentric—and ugly,” sighed the poet.
Rudolph Ehrenstein, modestly unconscious that the reliable voice of

here! All their different languages have made my head ache.”
His companion was a rich Greek merchant from Trieste, who was arrayed

baroness cried testily. “Did you see her to-day, Rudolph?”
Young Ehrenstein flushed and shrank a little with a hint of anxious

lady’s house, and carry her back with me, if even I must employ force.”
“Do so, and you will earn my lasting gratitude. We are all dying to

arm to his aunt, shrinking still and wounded.
“It is a great disappointment that M. Reineke is not here to-night.

appearance at the Jaroviskys’ ball next week.”
“Is there to be a ball next week?” Rudolph asked listlessly.
“Of course; are we not all vying to honour an English Cabinet minister?

He will probably write about us when he gets home.”
“Who are those girls laughing so loudly?” Rudolph asked, with no

sure, be glad to teach you tennis and cricket.”
“He is quite a boy,” cried Rudol

The epoch of the sexy and savagery of the young woman is a time of great sorrow.

From actress Sanaa Lathan to Georgia State Supreme Court chief justice Leah Ward Sears, many African-American women attribute much of their success to having a positive father figure
In Daughters of Men, author Rachel Vassel has compiled dozens of stunning photographs and compelling personal essays about African-American women and their fathers. Whether it's a father who mentors his daughter's artistic eye by taking her to cultural events or one who unwaveringly supports a risky career move, the fathers in this book each had his own unique and successful style of parenting. The first book to s


Laughable Lyrics

The Pobble Who Has No Toes
The New Vestments
Mr. And Mrs. Discobbolos
The Quangle Wangle's Hat
The Cummerbund
The Akond Of Swat

LAUGHABLE LYRICS.
The Dong with a Luminous Nose The Two Old Bachelors The Pelican Chorus The Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò The Pobble who has no Toes The New Vestments Mr. And Mrs. Discobbolos The Quangle Wangle's Hat The Cummerbund The Akond of Swat

Cry, as the wild light passes along,—
"The Dong! the Dong!
The wandering Dong through the forest goes!
The Dong! the Dong!
The Dong with a luminous Nose!"

With the Chorus they daily and nightly sang,—
"Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a sieve."

Happily, happily passed those days!
While the cheerful Jumblies staid;
They danced in circlets all night long,
To the plaintive pipe of the lively Dong,
In moonlight, shine, or shade.

As he sate all day on the grassy hill,—
"Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a sieve."

Playing a pipe with silvery squeaks,
Since then his Jumbly Girl he seeks;
And because by night he could not see,
He gathered the bark of the Twangum Tree
On the flowery plain that grows.
And he wove him a wondrous Nose,—
A Nose as strange as a Nose could be!

And tied with cords to the back of his head.
—In a hollow rounded space it ended
With a luminous Lamp within suspended,
All fenced about
With a bandage stout
To prevent the wind from blowing it out;
And with holes all round to send the light
In gleaming rays on the dismal night

"This is the hour when forth he goes,
The Dong with a luminous Nose!
Yonder, over the plain he goes,—
He goes!
He goes,—
The Dong with a luminous Nose!"

With lovely leathery throats and chins!
Ploffskin, Pluffskin, Pelican jee!
We think no Birds so happy as we!
Plumpskin, Ploshkin, Pelican Jill!
We think so then, and w

The epoch of the first century BC, when the world was awash in a series of events, the epochal events of the 21st century were replete with a host of new events. These events were a time of great change, and the emergence of the modern age.

Hilarious, fantastic poems that I enjoyed reading to my two sons when they were little. Now I'd like to read them for anyone's children to enjoy listening to.
(Summary by Roeg11)


Deal With The Devil

but which was sufficiently clear.
"What does it mean, grandpapa?" I asked faintly.
"Mean?" he screamed, "it means that in

will never, never, leave you."
He brushed away his tears and stood erect.
"You may do what you please.  And now

and can't hide it, and Rogers hasn't any objection."
"Of course not; he knows what you're worth."
"I've been wondering if I could run away

crusade.  Is not that the word, Mr. Dolphin?"
"As good as any other," said my grandpapa.
"Better than any other.  You have doubtless

sir?" I ventured to ask.
"Good old Martha!  Go up one," said grandpapa.
Then Mr. Montague turned to me and

in a very awkward position."
"Tell me everything, grandpapa.  I can bear it."
"Well, I met her in Paris."
"Grandpapa!  Another?"
"Listen.  I met the woman in Paris.  She

thousand a year and a park."
"You will kill me, grandpapa!"
"And I also told her I was a Viscount,

expected too much, and was too hopeful.
He said on one occasion:
"If heaven don't take pity on me now, and

Everybody would believe it, wouldn't they?"
"I could substantiate the facts, grandpapa."
"Which would merely place you in a lunatic

Talbots are to come, I leave the house."
"As you please--a good riddance."
My resolution was quickly formed.  I left

carriage.
"Oh, dear, dear Mrs. Dolphin, has he told you?"
Then, of course, I knew they were engaged.
"How far has it gone?" I asked wearily.
No doubt the same old, sickening flight was

dead nearly a hundred years."
The girl's blue eyes grew quite round.
"Mrs. Dolphin!" she gasped.
"No; Miss Dolphin.  He is my grandfather

send for a medical man," said my grandfather.
Then Tomkins spoke.  He was a small, weak person.
"You can't bounce it like that, you know,"

are engaged?"
"I will not deceive you, Martha; we are."
"How far has it gone?"
"To the 'second time of asking.'  I mean

lie.  Do you know Mr. Dolphin?"
"Know him!  He's my grandfather."
The Vicar looked round to see if the coast

tell him just then w

The story of a young woman who is a scheming, sexy, and affluent man.

She was given no choice! Elena's father rushed her to the San Felipe airport to put her on a plane to Miami. Their homeland in Central Americ ahad just erupted in revolution, and no one was safe. But Elena held a San Felipan passport, and officials were not letting any residents leave. Then she spotted American Blake Rogan, a ruthless adventurer she had every reason to despise, and her stomach twisted. Suddenly she knew what was about to happen. "Querida," her father said to her, "when you leave San Felipe, it will be as Mrs. Blake Rogan...


A History of the Philippines

an evil to his land and not a blessing.
The aim of this book is to help him to understand, first of all, the

these events appeared to men of the time.
But not all that a man writes, or even puts in a book, of things he

ineditos, and, in another series, Navarrete’s Coleccion de los viajes y descubrimientos.
Spanish Occupation and Conquest.—As we come to the

Filipinas de la Compania de Jesus, Manila, 1749. [18]
There is another notable Jesuit work to which we owe much of the

early history of the great island of Mindanao: this is the Historia de Mindanao y Jolo, by Father Francisco Combes. The

printed in Manila at the College of Santo Tomas in 1640.
We may also mention as containing a most interesting account of the

beginning of the eighteenth century.
Of modern historical writings mention must be made of the Historia de Filipinas, three volumes, 1887, by Montero y

country’s honor will be protected now and in the future.
Very interesting and important historical work can be done by the

body, and of mode of living which different people exhibit.
All such knowledge is of great assistance to the statesman as he

freshly dug holes from each of which they have taken out a root.
The Negritos ornament their bodies by making little rows of cuts on

know about these pygmies is full of interest.
Races and Tribes of the Philippines
Races and Tribes of the Philippines

Ages we mean the centuries between 500 and 1300 A.D. This period begins with the fall of the Roman Empire

world in general, and a passion for discovery of every kind.
These eight hundred years had been centuries of cruel struggle,

were produced on the shores of the Mediterranean.
Only the rich tropical countries of the East were capable of growing

along the coast of Arabia to India.
All of these had been in use for centuries, but by the year 1400 two

southern part of India, were states ruled over by Indian princes.
China.—We have seen how, at the time of Marco Polo,

and, until recent year

The book is a collection of essays by the author, including his own.

A History of the Philippines, herein offered by Dr. Samuel K. Tan...offers a conceptual framework of what he calls "the story of man in the Philippines" in the context of "specific ecological system" and "distinctive historical experience" that have shaped his "particular character and identity." Dr. Tan provides in this slim slim volume a picture of Philippine culture which..."ought to be understood from the totality of the ethnoliguistic varieties which constitute the fabric of Filipino society." Hence he divides Filipino cultural communities into three main groups--the Moros, the Indios, th


Easy Does It: A Romantic Comedy

satisfaction. "We've done it."
"Done what? Oh, you mean the new coloration process?"
"Yes. It will quintuple the net value of the family fortune within a

year. We may be the richest people in the world then."
"That's nice," Hal said mildly.
His father flicked a finger across a sensitive spot on the front of the

existence to fit his gross, soft body.
"Yes indeed," he said with a mild sigh. "It's been a long, long time

that we've been working for that. Worked mighty hard, too."
"That's right," murmured Hal, a little more forcefully than necessary.

lately is Bruchner. What is he, anyway? Nothing but a savage."
"Eh?" said his father softly, raising his eyebrows again in polite

employee who tells me I'm wrong all the time."
"But he is almost always right when he makes such statements, Hal,"

the trouble? I've never seen you so completely upset in all my life."
"I feel funny," murmured Hal. "As a matter of fact, I feel awful. Maybe

I came in here. Something in the set of your mouth. Tight, sort of."
With an expression of mild surprise, Hal reached up and tentatively

felt around his mouth with a cleanly manicured forefinger.
"Son," Webber murmured, "how long has it been since you had your last

years is the standard period at your age. Why haven't you taken it?"
"Well, you know," Hal whispered. "It's that new thing they have in it

curtail a little, but we don't have to concern ourselves with them."
"Yes," agreed Hal.
"Bruchner has been very useful to us on it," the old man repeated

know. We'll give him fame. We'll name the process after him."
"Well," Hal said doubtfully, "I guess that would do it."
"I think so. He's been a great help. As a matter of fact, though, most

almost like a civilized man—even without the treatments."
"I know," Hal said tonelessly. "It was his son, wasn't it?"
"Yes. Curious that the old man should be so concerned over that

Outlander to appreciate the advantages, can you?"
"No." Hal did not refer to the fact that the new

The story of Bruchner is told in the context of the savage family's fortune.

Julie Mills is heartbroken when her rock star wannabe boyfriend Ronny dumps her. With encouragement from her best friend Eve, Julie decides to post an Internet ad to attract a date. After a few too many sips of wine, Julie posts an ad entitled: "Easy Lady Requests Guy with Two Socks." Easy Lady meets Dan the Man at an Italian restaurant. It is far from the night Julie expects, and not just because it involves an eye patch and an argyle sock. When Ronny comes back from the road a 'changed man', Julie must decide if she wants the man she says she loves, or the man she just might.


King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table

the great King Arthur at Camelot.
The story of Merlin, that man of magic, is the least important of the

varying forms all through the Middle Ages.
So we have seen that a British chieftain, winning a great battle in the

little in common with the figures in the old romances.
The succeeding centuries, great as they were in English writers of

of these three that provides the great moving motive of the poems.
To Tennyson we owe the most nearly perfect version of the story that

world of Arthurian legend in its most perfect form.
Malory's Morte Darthur was not Tennyson's only source for the stories

Geoffrey of Monmouth and the other early writers of chronicles.
The great panorama of stories that we group together under the title of

hundred days from now, or I will surely spare no life amongst you all."
Then all the host of craftsmen, fearing for their lives, found out a

to interfere and help them or to deliver them from their dreadful work.
Filled with mixed rage and fear, the king called for the astrologers and

of no mortal man! go, find thy father, and leave us in peace."
At that the messengers looked steadfastly on the lad, and asked who he

what cause he was thus dragged there?
"My magicians," answered Vortigern, "told me to seek out a man that had

come and sit down before Merlin, who cried to them—
"Because ye know not what it is that hinders the foundation of the

ground till they shall come to a great pool of water."
This then was done, and the pool discovered far beneath the surface of

discover the two dragons, fast asleep, as Merlin had declared.
But Vortigern sat upon the brink of the pool till night to see what else

dragon disappeared no man knew where.
When their battle was done, the king desired Merlin to tell him what it

and night, and rested not till he had fled thereto.
In the meantime, Aurelius, the rightful king, was hailed with joy by the

conflagration, they burned down the tower, and Vortigern within it.
Then did Aurelius tu

An exciting, magical plot, along with its unforgettable characters -- the heroic King Arthur, the wizard Merlin, the brave Sir Lancelot, the beautiful Guinevere and the evil Morgana le Fey -- will enchant younger listeners, in this audio version written specially for Naxos AudioBooks.


Evelina's Garden

village like a broad brow of superiority.
He had owned the only coach and four. His wife during her short

Squire's bride had been dead nearly seventy years.
The blue bride attire was said to be still in existence, packed

stiffly into the folds of her black shawl by way of salutation.
When Evelina was fifteen years old this single woman died, and the

who met him fairly half way, and married her within a year.
On the Sunday when he and his bride first appeared in the

little, and her face showed as clear and beautiful as an angel's.
The young bridegroom glanced at her once across the meeting-house,

struggle, as it were, with the green luxuriance of the hedge.
“John Darby had ought to trim that hedge,” they said.

new bloom of her flowers, but people could not see it.
Some thirty years after the Squire's death the man John Darby

the roots of flowers, and the planting of seeds.
Every autumn he seemed about to totter to his fall among the

second to be reflected in his bleared old eyes.
There had never been in the village such a garden as this of

rose, her heart leaped as at the face of a lover.
She had lost the one way of human affection, but her feet had

to be there alone in that great house,” they said.
But early in April a young girl appeared one Sunday in the old

a sweet fire that matched the memory in his father's heart.
But the old man put the fancy away from him in a minute; it was

always called him the very image of his father.
The father tried to fix his mind upon his son's sermon, but

when she drooped her head, as Evelina's used to do.
The people divided their attention between her and the new

sorry,” she said, and there was a catch in her voice.
Thomas bent over her impetuously. All his ministerial state fell

feet, his nostrils choked with a spiritual dust of humiliation.
He went forward blindly. The dusk had deepened; from either side

ear.
“That you, father? Down to the post-office.”
“Who was that you was talkin' with back ther

The story of a young girl who was born in the village and whose father was a priest.

Excerpt: ...would be sorer than ever with the belief that his was happy and at rest, although she would chide herself for it. And yet this young Evelina was a philosopher and an analyst of human nature in a small way, and she got some slight comfort out of a shrewd suspicion that the heart of a man might love and suffer on a somewhat different principle from the heart of a woman.


Emmeline The Orphan of the Castle

O'erwhelm'd with sorrow—and sustaining long
'The proud man's contumely, the oppressor's wrong,'
Languid despondency, and vain regret,
Must my exhausted spirit struggle yet?
Yes! robb'd myself of all that Fortune gave,
Of every hope—but shelter in the grave;
Still shall the plaintive lyre essay it's powers,
And dress the cave of Care, with Fancy's flowers;
Maternal love, the fiend Despair withstand,
Still animate the heart and guide the hand.
May you, dear objects of my tender care!
Escape the evils, I was born to bear:
Round my devoted head, while tempests roll,
Yet there—'where I have treasured up my soul,'
May the soft rays of dawning hope impart
Reviving patience to my fainting heart;
And, when it's sharp anxieties shall cease,
May I be conscious, in the realms of peace,
That every tear which swells my children's eyes,
From evils past, not present sorrows, rise.
Then, with some friend who loves to share your pain,
(For 'tis my boast, that still such friends remain,)
By filial grief, and fond remembrance prest,
You'll seek the spot where all my miseries rest,
Recall my hapless days in sad review,
The long calamities I bore for you,
And, with an happier fate, resolve to prove
How well ye merited your mother's love!

Montreville, the present possessor, became entitled to the estate.
This nobleman, while yet a younger son, was (by the partiality

inherited by the death of his brother, Mr. Mowbray.
He had been originally designed for the law; but in consequence

the future she was not yet old enough to reflect.
[Pg 3]
Mrs. Carey was to her in place of the mother she had never

could hardly hope to be received by any of them.
[Pg 7]
She had therefore no choice left but to remain at the castle till she

of your Lordship's pleasure as to my future residence.
'You will, my Lord, I doubt not, recollect that it is, at my time

of a small chest of drawers, which stood in her room.
The rest of her property, which consisted of her cloaths and

The first book in the series of novels by the author, 'The Lady and the Beast', is a collection of short stories written by the writer. It is based on the novel of the same name by the same author.

This book was converted from its physical edition to the digital format by a community of volunteers. You may find it for free on the web. Purchase of the Kindle edition includes wireless delivery.


The Lilac Fairy Book

happen to sit next them at dinner parties?
I do not know whether ladies thus indicate their interest in the

more about portraits of Queen Mary than he did.
In truth I never did write any fairy books in my life, except 'Prince

peace to his ashes! died in harness.
The object of these confessions is not only that of advertising my own

Italian, Spanish, Catalan, and other languages.
My part has been that of Adam, according to Mark Twain, in the Garden of

too much for the village maiden espoused by that peer.
Nobody really wrote most of the stories. People told them in all parts

wakes up and finds that he has been dreaming.
Such are the new fairy stories. May we be preserved from all the sort of

'The Sea King's Gift,' by Miss Christie, from the same author.
It has been suggested to the Editor that children and parents and

to any trade, and that he meant to be a thief.
Now his mother was very sorrowful when she heard of this, but she knew

that he did not like sermons, adding:
'However, I will promise you this, that the first trade you hear named

lighter than before as she bade him farewell.
When the Shifty Lad thought that the hour had nearly come for the sermon

stretched out comfortably before the fire.
'Well, have you got any news to tell me?' asked he.
'No, nothing; for I left the church at once, and did not stop to speak

voice cried out "Robbery! Robbery! Robbery!" but that was all.'
'And quite enough too,' answered the boy. 'What did I tell you? That is

that, though all had been robbed by him, no one could catch him.
'Good-morning to you,' said the woman as she reached the place where the

has a fancy to learn your trade. Will you be kind enough to teach him?'
[Pg 3]'If he is clever, I don't mind trying,' answered the Black Gallows Bird;

dark, I will send him to you.'
The Shifty Lad jumped for joy when his mother told him where she had

not find their nuts they sat round the fire and began to tell stories.
'I will crack a nut,' said the

The first book in the series of fairy tales by the author of the first novel, "The Sea King's Gift" is a story of a young woman who is robbed and robeyed by her mother. She is unable to find her nuts, but she is able to learn how to use them.

"Admirable series of photographic reprints of the first editions. . . . Altogether very good value." --New York Review of Books. Over 30 tales from Portugal, Ireland, Wales, and points East and West, among them "The Brown Bear of Norway," "The Enchanted Deer," "The Story of a Very Bad Boy," and "The Brownie of the Lake." 51 illustrations.


Bohemians of the Latin Quarter

debauchee, before this muse drowned in her own tears.
Besides, amongst all those whose but little known work has only been

the audacity of his love for a daughter of the house of Este.
The religious contests and political storms that marked the arrival of

day, "Honor is an old saint past praying to."
The roll call of Bohemia during the seventeenth century contains a

throne, or a chair of the Academy, founded by one of its children.
It was in the transition period between the sixteenth and eighteenth

virtue of the young, and hope, which is the wealth of the poor.
For the uneasy reader, for the timorous citizen, for all those for whom

Academy, the Hôtel Dieu, or the Morgue."
We will add that Bohemia only exists and is only possible in Paris.
We will begin with unknown Bohemians, the largest class. It is made up

come of their own accord and place themselves under them.
It is, as one sees, the ridiculousness of stoicism. Well, then we again

turn their backs on you and call you a tradesman.
For the rest, they are logical in their mad heroism, they utter neither

sooner if it had not remained invisible.
In artistic struggles it is almost the same as in war, the whole of the

task, they depart from this life, enwrapped in a shroud of indifference.
There exists in ignored Bohemia another fraction; it is composed of

"Farewell mankind, ye stony-hearted host,
Flint-bosomed earth and sun with frozen ray,
From out amidst you, solitary ghost
I glide unseen away."

a harsh stepmother, and art an executioner.
All truly powerful minds have their word to say, and, indeed, utter it

manners.
Axiom, "Unknown Bohemianism is not a path, it is a blind alley."
Indeed, this life is something that does not lead to anything. It is a

to another jurisdiction than that of literary physiology.
We will also cite a singular variety of Bohemians who might be called

common grave in a pauper's hearse. He had ten thousand francs a year.
It is needless to say that these Bohe

The first book in the series of novels by the author, a collection of essays on the life and work of the Bohemians.

Louis-Henri Murger, also known as Henri Murger and Henry Murger (27 March 1822 - 28 January 1861) was a French novelist and poet. He is chiefly distinguished as the author of Scenes de la vie de boheme, from his own experiences as a desperately poor writer living in a Parisian attic, and member of a loose club of friends who called themselves "the water drinkers" (because they were too poor to afford wine). In his writing he combines instinct with pathos and humour, sadness his predominant tone. The book is the basis for the operas La boheme (Puccini) and La boheme (Leoncavallo), and, at great


Cuba

CHAPTER I.
DISCOVERY AND EARLY HISTORY.
"The goodliest land that eye ever saw, the sweetest thing in the world."
Such was Columbus' opinion of Cuba, just after he first beheld it, and,

new possessions to the very last peseta that could be wrung from them.
The island was first called Juana, in honor of Prince John, son of

constantly kept this in mind, both theoretically and practically.
At first, however, the answers received in Cuba in reply to the

the New World was made in Hayti.
The aborigines seem to have made no resistance to the coming among them

dwelling in a state of happy tranquillity among themselves.
Their character is best demonstrated by an extract from a letter written

by Columbus to their Catholic majesties, Ferdinand and Isabella:
"The king having been informed of our misfortune expressed great grief

were of their own flesh and blood.
As has been said, the first settlement of the Spaniards was made on the

contained. Thus, does unbridled greed ever overleap itself.
After its discovery, Cuba was twice visited by Columbus, in April, 1494,

which is as cruel and bloodthirsty to-day as it was then.
There was one native chief, a refugee from Hayti, named Hatuey, who had

there.
"A great many of then," answered the monk.
"Then," cried Hatuey, "I will not go to a place where I may meet one of

been relaxed, closed firmly upon the beautiful island.
Three hundred of the natives were given as slaves to each Spaniard, but,

remained in the bonds of serfdom for centuries.
The first permanent settlement was made at Santiago de Cuba, on the

capital, the first named place being rechristened Batabana.
The natives were treated with the utmost cruelty, so cruelly, in fact,

imposing the penalty of death upon all who left it.
Spain also imposed the heaviest trade restrictions upon Cuba. It was

the atrocities committed upon navigators, especially those of England.
When Cromwell, who caused many liberal ideas to be introduced into

the free navig

The first book in the series of books by Christopher Columbus, this is a collection of his most recent works.

Maggie's idea of starting over after breaking up with her boyfriend isn't working out as planned. Instead of the fabulous career, shopping with friends, and dinner parties she'd imagined, all she has is a lonely flat, and although it pays well, her job at Vixenz isn't worth writing home about.
Life picks up for Maggie when she accidentally discovers that she can overhear everything in her neighbors' flat. When her new neighbor David announces to his wife Libby that they and their infant son Charlie are off to Cuba on sabbatical, the travel bug is very contagious, and it doesn't take Maggie lon


Chelsea: The Story of a Signal Dog

PAGE
Prefatory Notevii
PART I
Chelsea South of the King's Road1
PART II
Chelsea North of the King's Road55
PART III
The Royal Hospital and Ranelagh Gardens67
Index97
Map at end of Volume.

various messes, to be followed by steaming plum-puddings.
The men do not dine in hall, as they used to do,

“To Ranelagh once in my life
By good-natur’d force I was driven;
The nations had ceased their long strife,
And Peace beamed her radiance from heaven.
What wonders were there to be found
That a clown might enjoy or disdain?
First we traced the gay ring all around—
Ay, and then we went round it again.

“The music was truly enchanting!
Right glad was I when I came near it;
But in fashion I found I was wanting,
’Twas the fashion to walk and not hear it!
A fine youth, as beauty beset him,
Look’d smilingly round on the train;
‘The King’s nephew!’ they cried, as they met him,
Then we went round and met him again.

“Huge paintings of heroes and Peace
Seem’d to smile at the sound of the fiddle,
Proud to fill up each tall shining space
Round the lantern that stood in the middle.
And George’s head, too—Heaven screen him!
May he finish in peace his long reign;
And what did we when we had seen him?
Why, went round and saw him again.

“’Tis not wisdom to love without reason,
Or to censure without knowing why;
I had witness’d no crime, nor no treason;
‘Oh, life, ’tis thy picture,’ said I.
’Tis just thus we saunter along;
Months and years bring their pleasure or pain.
We sigh midst the right and the wrong;
And then we go round them again!”

The earliest work of the author, "The Story of the Woman Who Loved Me," is a collection of stories from the period of the American Civil War. It was published in 1865, and is the first book in the series to be published in English.

Paul Ogden, a deaf college professor, and his wife Anne, who is hard of hearing, discovered their "ears" in Chelsea, a beautiful, gentle Belgian sheepdog. Instead of herding sheep, like her ancestors, Chelsea works as a signal dog, helping the Ogdens live as normally as possible. She "tells" them if someone is at the door or on the phone, and wakes them when the alarm has gone off. She even reacts to the sound of strange voices and unusual noises. "A warm and witty book . . . Chelsea's tale is a delightful read. . . . That feeling of love and devotion -- the Ogdens for Chelsea and she for them


Group Psychology and the Analysis of the Ego

alteration has been carried out at the author's express desire.
All technical terms have been translated in accordance with the Glossary

those possessed by each of the cells singly.' (p. 29.)[4]
We shall take the liberty of interrupting Le Bon's exposition with

the causes of this difference.
'To obtain at any rate a glimpse of them it is necessary in the first

result of hidden motives which escape our observation.' (p. 30.)
Le Bon thinks that the particular acquirements of individuals become

are similar in everyone, stand exposed to view.
In this way individuals in a group would come to show an average

the reason for this in three different factors.
'The first is that the individual forming part of a group acquires,

always controls individuals disappears entirely.' (p. 33.)
From our point of view we need not attribute so much importance to the

capable, except when he makes part of a group.' (p. 33.)
We shall later on base an important conjecture upon this last statement.
'A third cause, and by far the most important, determines in the

thoughts are bent in the direction determined by the hypnotiser.
'Such also is approximately the state of the individual forming part of

become an automaton who has ceased to be guided by his will.' (p. 35.)
I have quoted this passage so fully in order to make it quite clear that

experiences when he becomes merged in a group.[8]
Let us now leave the individual, and turn to the group mind, as it has

exaggerated. So that a group knows neither doubt nor uncertainty.[12]
It goes directly to extremes; if a suspicion is expressed, it is

antipathy is turned into furious hatred (p. 56).[13]
Inclined as it itself is to all extremes, a group can only be excited by

above his as it may sink deep below it.
Some other features in Le Bon's description show in a clear light how

tendency not to distinguish between the two (p. 77).
We have pointed out that this predominance of the life of phantasy and

instinctively to anyo

The hypnotiser is a group of individuals who are forming part of a gestalt. They are the ones who are in a particular state of being and are merged into a single body. This is the reason why they become an automaton who has ceased to be guided by his will.

International Psychoanalytical Library #6
To Freud, individual & social psychology were virtually identical. The question he addresses here is, What are the emotional bonds that hold collective entities, such as an army & a church, together? It is a fruitful question. Freud offers some interesting answers. But Group Psychology & the Analysis of the Egostands chiefly as an invitation to further psychoanalytic exploration.


Dream World (Dream Waters #2)

the girl doesn't have to keep running over with refills.
Bascomb Swicegood liked to have bacon and waffles after the egg

breakfast when he jumped up.
"What did she say?"
He was surprised at the violence of his own voice.
"What did who say, Mr. Swicegood?"
"The girl that was just here, that just left with the other girl."
"That was Teresa, and the other girl was Agnes. Or else that was Agnes

don't know what either of them said."
Bascomb ran out into the street.
"Girl, the girl who said it rained dirty green all the time, what's

like you never saw me before."
"I'm Agnes," said Agnes.
"What did you mean it rained dirty green all the time? Tell me all

It isn't any of your business."
"Well, I have to hear all of it. Tell me everything you dreamed."
"I will not. It was a dirty dream. It isn't any of your business. If

McCarty, this man is annoying me."
"The devil he is, Miss Ananias. Old Bascomb just doesn't have it in him

any more. There's no more harm in him than a lamp post."
"Did the lamp posts have hair on them, Miss Teresa? Did they pant and

swell and smell green—"
"Oh! You couldn't know! You awful man!"
"I'm Agnes," said Agnes; but Teresa dragged Agnes away with her.
"What is the lamp-post jag, Bascomb?" asked Officer Mossback McCarty.
"Ah—I know what it is like to be in hell, Mossback. I dreamed of it

him slowly at first, but afterwards with a rush.
The oddity wasn't that two people should have the same dream, but that

running around and most of the dreams forgotten.
Yet, if it were a coincidence, it was a multiplex one. On the night

many refused frostily to answer questions on the subject at all.
This was ten days after Bascomb Swicegood had heard Teresa Ananias tell

entertainment was forgotten, and this was the only topic.
Nervous disorders took a fearful rise as people tried to stay awake

slept, and they knew that their cures were not cures.
There were large amounts posted for anyone who could cure the populace

problem, but th

The story of a young woman who is awoken by the light of her dreams. She is woken up by a lamp post, and she is waking up to a dark dream.

You waded into the Waters and caught a glimpse of the Dream World.
Now immerse yourself and discover what lies beyond the trees.
Recently released from a psychiatric facility after learning that his Dream Sight is not a delusion but a gift, Charlie Oliver sets off to accept an invitation extended by a powerful Dark creature and potential mentor to join his "family" of Sighted individuals. As his demon guides begin to instruct him, Charlie quickly discovers just how little he actually knows about the Dream World and the creatures who inhabit it.
While Charlie stumbles through his lessons and st


Jerry Junior

should answer if my eyes were shut.”
He picked up the letter, glanced at the address to make sure—the name

of a romantic race; there was a gleam of sympathetic interest in his eye.
“Oh, you needn’t look so knowing! I suppose you think this is a love

want to leave you, Gustavo, but—Oh, thunder!”
He finished the reading in a frowning silence while the waiter stood at

partners laid away in drawers like so many sheets.
He crumpled up the letter and stuffed it in his pocket.
“I say, Gustavo, what do you think of this? They’re going to stay in

thought.
“Ze same room? Oh, I suppose so.”
He sank back into his chair and plunged his hands into his pockets with

for everything.
The young man raised his head and eyed his companion gloomily.
“Gustavo, have you a sister?”
“A sister?” Gustavo’s manner was uncomprehending but patient. “Si,

signore, I have eight sister.”
“Eight! Merciful saints. How do you manage to be so cheerful?”
“Tree is married, signore, one uvver is betrofed, one is in a convent,

appointments?”
Gustavo blinked. His supple back achieved another bow.
“Sank you,” he murmured.
“And you don’t happen to have an aunt?”
“An aunt, signore?” There was vagueness in his tone.
“Yes, Gustavo, an aunt. A female relative who reads you like an open

A gleam of illumination swept over Gustavo’s troubled features.
“Ecco! You would know if I haf a zia—a aunt—yes, zat is it. A aunt.

more, Gustavo, from this moment we are friends.”
He held out his hand. Gustavo regarded it dazedly; then, since it seemed

bows.
“Grazie tanto! Has ze signore need of anysing?”
“Have I need of anysing?” There was reproach, indignation, disgust in the

heart the list of guests in every hotel in Switzerland.”
“Ah, it is diversion zat you wish? Have you seen zat ver’ beautiful Luini

in ze chapel of San Bartolomeo? It is four hundred years old.”
“Yes, Gustavo, I have seen the Luini in the chapel of San Bartolomeo. I

derived all the pleasure to be got out of it the first afte

The story of Gustavo, a young man who is a smitten and passionate woman, is told in a way that is both eloquent and evocative.

Large Format for easy reading. Fully illustrated version of a novel that sought to explore the possibility of more equal relationships between men and women.


The Heroes, or, Greek Fairy Tales for My Children

So the fair land of Athens was wasted, and another king ruled
it, who drove out Theseus shamefully, and he fled across the sea
to Scuros.  And there he lived in sadness, in the house of
Lucomedes the king, till Lucomedes killed him by treachery, and
there was an end of all his labours.
So it is still, my children, and so it will be to the
end.  In those old Greeks, and in us also, all strength and
virtue come from God.  But if men grow proud and
self-willed, and misuse God’s fair gifts, He lets them go
their own ways, and fall pitifully, that the glory may be His
alone.  God help us all, and give us wisdom, and courage to
do noble deeds! but God keep pride from us when we have done
them, lest we fall, and come to shame!

Footnotes
[96]  In the Elgin Marbles.
[130a]  The Danube.
[130b]  Between the Crimæa and
Circassia.
[130c]  The Sea of Azov.
[131a]  The Ural Mountains?
[131b]  The Baltic?
[132]  Britain?
[133]  The Azores?
***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HEROES***

The book is a collection of essays by the author, and includes a number of other essays.

Work by Charles Kingsley, a prolific English novelist and author whose main power lay in his descriptive faculties. Kingsley's interest in history spilled over into his writings, which include The Heroes, or Greek Fairy Tales for My Children (1856), a children's book about Greek mythology, and several historical novels, of which the best known are Hypatia (1853), Hereward, the Last of the English (1865), and Westward Ho! (1855).


The Sea Fairies

countries traversed by the road leading to Oz and the Emerald City.
Unique and gorgeous Jacket in colors and gold.
THE LAND OF OZ
An account of the adventures of the Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman, Jack

the Gump and many other delightful characters.
Nearly 150 black-and-white illustrations and sixteen full-page pictures in colors.
OZMA OF OZ
The story tells "more about Dorothy," as well as those famous characters,

pages in color and fifty black-and-white text pictures.
DOROTHY AND THE WIZARD IN OZ
In this book Dorothy, with Zeb, a little boy friend, and Jim, the Cab Horse,

Gorgeously illustrated with sixteen full color pages and numerous black-and-white pictures.
JOHN DOUGH AND THE CHERUB
A whimsical tale portraying the exciting adventures of the

the Magician they are all supposed to exist in the ocean's depths.
I am told that some very learned people deny that mermaids

lived under the water as Trot and Cap'n Bill did in this story.
I hope my readers who have so long followed Dorothy's

old master lived peacefully ashore with the Griffiths family.
This was about the time Trot was born, and the old sailor

by us mortal folk," replied Cap'n Bill.
"But if anyone happens to see 'em, what then, Cap'n?"
"Then," he answered, slowly wagging his head, "the

live deep down, an' the poor mortals never come up again."
The little girl was thoughtful for a moment.
"But why do folks dive in the water when the mermaids

an' purple an' pink scales all adown it."
"Have they got arms, Cap'n Bill?"
"'Course, Trot; arms like any other lady. An' pretty

girl, looking up into his face with big round eyes.
Cap'n Bill coughed. Then he tried to sneeze, to gain

has to be like that, or they wouldn't be mermaids."
She thought this over.
"Somebody must have lived, Cap'n Bill," she declared,

with 'em, Trot."
"May—re! May—re!" called a voice from the house.
"Yes, Mamma!"
"You an' Cap'n Bill come in to supper."

girl and Cap'n Bill started out toward the bluff.
The air

The story of the mermaids and their adventures is told in this book by the Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman, Jack the Gump, and many other delightful characters.

Best-known for his beloved "Oz" stories, L. Frank Baum also fabricated other realms of fantasy for his young readers. In The Sea Fairies, he takes youngsters to visit one of those fascinating places -- a kingdom deep beneath the sea. Leading the way are Trot, a very independent and immensely curious little girl, and Cap'n Bill, an old sailor who likes to tell tall tales.
One day the two adventurers come upon a sea cave where they discover a school of bewitching mermaids who guide them beneath the waves to a magnificent palace. While touring this mysterious watery realm, Trot and Cap'n Bill mee


Not Like Other Girls: Really Bad Poetry From My '90s Life

Mrs. Challoner, who lived here with her three daughters.
This may be accounted strange in the first instance, since the

dark days when pleasures were few and tennis impossible.
People said it was very good-natured of the Maynes; but then

airs of an old servant who could not be replaced.
They were all pretty girls, the three Misses Challoner, but Nan

her racquet a little languidly; she looked a trifle grave.
Mrs. Challoner laid down her knitting and looked at them,

eyes; and she thought even Dick’s sandy hair beautiful.
But in spite of his plainness he was a pleasant, well-bred young

at the sight of a fresh face! it was horrid of you, sir!”
“I wanted him to come,” returned the young man, in a deprecating

“Mother, now Dick has come so late, he had better stay.”
“If I only may do so?” returned Dick; but his inquiry was

think I was a fool for my pains to refuse the ball.”
“Yes, indeed; just because you were afraid of the supper

son of the house,—but Dulce interrupted her:
“But all the same I wish Dick had not been so stupid about

Normatons, only it was an uncle in that case.”
“Moral: never put off a dance, in case somebody dies.”
“Oh, hush, please!” groaned Nan, in a shocked voice; “I

to herself, as she composed herself to her usual nap.
“We shall not be long, little mother; so you must not be

into the conversation in a way that was somewhat confusing.
“I don’t agree with you at all,” she would say, in a drowsy

mother’s head nid-nodded on the cushions until the next interruption.
“We shall not have many more of these strolls,” observed

three whole months in Switzerland. Oh, you lucky Dick!”
For the Maynes had decided to pass the long vacation in the

lids, in a manner half sharp and half jocular.
He was not vulgar, far from it; but he had a homely air about

though he has the good taste to try and hide it.”
This sagacious speech was very true. Dick would never

risen and kissed her with some effusion as she took her leave.
“It is so nice o

The story of a young woman who is a smitten with the beautiful and charming Dick.

NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS: Really Bad Poetry From My '90s Life is the quintessential journey of an angst-filled '90s youth gone wild. Caught in the middle of generational no-woman's land, Jessie Rose compiles a menagerie of teenage art, reflection and bad poems. *Content warning, suicide, depression and generally awful, but honest language


The Pagan Madonna

I were only rich!”
“And what would you do if you had riches?”
“I’d buy all the silk at Kai Fook’s—isn’t that

and followed it with the smelly oilskin.
“Hello, Cleigh! Devil of a night!”
“Have a peg?” asked Cleigh.
“Never touch the stuff.”
“That’s so; I had forgotten.”

out of his voice.
“There’s the devil to pay—all in a half hour.”
“You haven’t got it?” Cleigh blazed out.
“Morrissy—one of the squarest chaps in the

hurried him to a hospital, where he lies unconscious.”
“But the beads!”
“Either he dropped them in the gutter, or they

course I’ll look him up in the morning.”
“Thousands of miles—to hear a yarn like this!”
“Cleigh, we’ve done business for nearly twenty

keeps the crew out of sight.”
“And I should say out of touch, too.”
“I’m quite satisfied,” replied Cleigh, grumpily.
“Cleigh, I’m through.” Cunningham spread

Mr. Cunningham. I want you to remember him.”
Dodge agreed with a curt nod.
“If ever you see him in this cabin when I’m

absent, you know what to do.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Dodge, with a wintry smile.
Cunningham laughed.
“So you carry a Texas gunman round with you

see whether they were sound or raw?
“But the beads!” he said.
“I’m sorry. Simply Morrissy ran amuck.”
“I am willing to pay half as much again.”
“You leave that to me—at the original price.

But why the devil do you carry that rug abroad?”
“To look at.”
“Mad as a hatter!” Cunningham picked up

my hand when I started to run. Sorry.”
“Have they quizzed you?”
“Yes, but I made out I couldn’t talk. What’s

the States.”
“All right. Cook’s or the American Express?”
“Address me the Milan direct.”
Cunningham nodded.
“Well, good-bye.”
“Good-bye, Dick. I’m sorry I gummed it up.”
“I thought you’d be. Good-bye.”
But as Cunningham passed from sight, the man

The shops! Oh, the beautiful, beautiful shops!
“China, China, China!” she sang.
She threw up the shade and squinted for a moment.

made her think of ants, darting, scuttling, wheeling.
“Oh, the beautiful shops!”

The story of a young man who is a snobby, sexy, and a little bit smitten with the world.

Harold MacGrath (1871-1932) was a bestselling American novelist, short story writer, and screenwriter. As a young man, he worked as a reporter and columnist on the Syracuse Herald newspaper until the late 1890s when he published his first novel, a romance titled Arms and the Woman (1899). According to the New York Times, his next book, The Puppet Crown (1901) was the No. 7 bestselling book in the United States in 1901. From that point on, MacGrath never looked back, writing novels for the mass market about love, adventure, mystery, spies, and the like at an average rate of more than one a year


Root of All Evil

endeavouring to do what no man can do without brains and capital.
Nevertheless—so powerfully will Nature assert her own wealth in the

whole show was poverty-stricken it was at least whole and clean.
"That's the lot, Rushie!" she said, turning to her sister as she picked

get to mangling and ironing by tea-time."
Rushie, who had no such love of labour as her sister, made no answer.

untidy table. "We've never done in this house!"
"So'm I," retorted Jeckie. "But what's that to do with it when there's

never been seen to this morning."
She caught up a sieve as she spoke, filled it with waste stuff from a

one of what Farnish would have to do with it.
The horse, a fairly decent animal, drank greedily when Jeckie had pumped

whenever money was concerned her instincts were immediately aroused.
Farnish was riding into the fold as she regained it, and he got off his

a corn-bin, and, swinging his long legs, shook his head again.
"Well?" demanded Jeckie.
Farnish, for a long time, had found it difficult to encounter his elder

particular hole the next rat would look, and he made no show of speech.
"You may as well out with it," said Jeckie. "What is it, now?"
There was an emphasis on the last word that made Farnish look at his

to drum his fingers on his bony knees.
"Aye, well, mi lass!" he answered, in a low tone. "As ye say—now! Ye

at an end! That's the long and that's the short, as the saying goes."
"You'll have to be plainer than that," retorted Jeckie. "What is it?

impatiently. "What's the use of keeping it back?"
"They can sell me up," answered Farnish in a low tone. "They can sell

cows and the poultry a living could be scratched together, but....
"I been into Sicaster to see Mr. Burstlewick, th' bank manager,"

lass!"
"What do you mean by a hundred pound?" exclaimed Jeckie. "You said two!"
"Aye, but ye don't understand, mi lass," answered Farnish. "If I could

harvest's been and gone—what?"
"Would that satisfy 'em?" asked Jeckie suspiciously.
"So

The first book in the series of novels by the author, 'The Book of the Dead', is a collection of short stories and essays by the writer. It is based on the novel of the same name by the same author.

"The Root All Evil draw us into the ambiguous, threatening dream world of one of earth's most wounding cities: contemporary Jakarta. Dewi Anggraeni's first novel evokes this modern Hades poignantly, using simple heart to confront elaborate and overripe acts of evil. She conveys much of the troubled Indonesian soul." Blanche D'Alpuget


Black Tiger (Black Tiger, #1)

station that Woody had long ago ceased to trouble himself over.
Cindy Lou was Woody's hot rod. Or to be more precise, she was Woody's

to the phone, which was fastened to a wall of the garage.
"McNess Union Service Station," he said into the mouthpiece.
"Hi," said a cheerful voice at the other end. "That you, Woody?"
"Yep."
"How are things?"
Things, Woody replied, rubbing the end of his nose with an

discussion part of salesmanship and should get down to the point.
"Say, Woody," he said, "I don't want you to get the idea that I'm

on myself, and I've got to have the skins."
"O.K.," said Woody. "I'll pay it off."
"Swell," said Bob. "You going to be there this evening?"
"Until seven," Woody replied.
"I'll buzz by with the plumbing and pick up the dough about six-thirty.

S'long."
"S'long," said Woody and put down the receiver.
Only when he had hung up did he realize the enormity of his offense.

Woody needed at least seven or eight dollars.
Worm McNess came by his nickname fairly enough. His full name was

positions next to impossible for mechanics built on more normal lines.
Woody liked Worm. He was a good boss with a quiet sense of humor and

automobiles with such contempt and yet worked on them with such care.
Worm was putting the pan back on a Chevvy now—the same car whose

into the breast pocket of his shirt and took out a cigarette.
"Hurry oop wi' yon carburetor and let's get this bucket o' bolts oot of

to ask Worm for a loan of six or seven bucks.
He decided, since Worm was close at hand and relaxing with his

cigarette, that he'd try him first.
"Say, Worm," he said in as offhand a manner as he could manage, "how

about letting me have a couple of bucks until payday?"
"Bucket o' bolts," he said ignoring the question completely and shaking

eighty thousand miles on her if she's been driven a yard."
Woody was used to these tactics and knew what to do about them. He

McNess could have got her running again."
"You could take it all out of the

A young man who has been a member of the family for many years, and who is now a part of the community.

When the fire goes out, supposedly dead, the embers still remain, tiny specks of deadwood and ash that have the capacity to start a fire large enough to burn down an entire city.
Ember Carter is a sixteen-year-old farmer's daughter who wants nothing more than to stay close to her family in the Community Garden when Career Day approaches. Unfortunately, all farming careers are given to boys, and besides, as of the past two years, all students have been drafted to the Line of Defenders to fight in a war no one seems to know about. When she meets Forest, the mysterious stranger who seems to know


Isle of the Undead

bantering note left his voice. "I'm crazy about you, Vilma."
She tried to laugh, but it was an unconvincing sound. "It's the moon,

crawled up Darrell's spine.
Stiff-lipped, Vilma gasped: "What—what is it?"
Cliff answered in a dry husky voice, the words seeming to trip over an

had been under water a long time.
Dead men ... men whose movements were stiffly wooden ... as dead as

A
  queer mirage, isn't it?" A hollow voice spoke suavely behind them.
Vilma gasped at the sudden sound, and they whirled. A foot away stood

the galley. "It looks quite life-like, don't you think so?"
"Life-like?" Cliff spoke between his teeth as he again faced the black

motionless captain.
"Do something, Corio!" he rasped. "Don't stand there like a dummy!"
Corio nodded with his same queer smile. His hand darted to an inside

motion, sweeping them in a horde to the rail of the yacht.
Cliff swung toward Corio in bursting fury, fury mingled with dread.

against the moonlit doorway, treading soundlessly, and were gone.
Cliff lay in rigid paralysis, every sense keenly alive, his mind

showing, her Diesel engines purring almost soundlessly.
He turned and bent over Vilma, still in thrall to that strange deep

foreboding, a fear of what was yet to come. He must do something!
Stepping over the still forms of his friends, he moved to the forward

under the ledge, into the mouth of the skull!
Just before total blackness fell, Cliff sprang to Vilma's side and

Vilma—there was nothing else to do. If only she were conscious!
He stooped and raised her, holding her firmly with one arm. Gripping

now, dead eyes staring upward.
"Vilma!" he cried, his voice pleading. "Vilma!"
Only a mocking echo answered him. There was no other sound, not even

he must get to light, must get light to search for Vilma.
Gradually the insensate pounding in his head abated, and strength

draft drawing through the fissure, fanning his brine-drenched body.
Grim and starkly forbidding the plain lay before him, d

The saga of the 'Seaman' is a story of a young man who has been swept away by the savagery of the sea. He is resurrected by the spirit of his father, and he is reunited with his mother, the narrator, and the thugs who have beaten him.

A gripping, thrilling, uncanny tale about the frightful fate that befell a yachting party on the dreadful island of living dead men. Talk about an unholy alliance. Vampires, zombies and the devil.


the gibson

[Image unavailable.]
He: Who is that tramping around overhead?
She: Oh, that’s only papa. He always gets restless towards morning.

[Image unavailable.]
Little Sister: A widow? What’s a widow?
Big Sister: A lady what’s had a husband and is goin’ to have

yet, before we were married, you told me I was a man of a thousand.
She: So you were, my dear, so you were. But I can’t entirely forget

[Image unavailable.]
He: We have had a terrible scrap.
“And I came out ahead.”
“No. I did. You accepted my apology.”

[Image unavailable.]
“Aren’t there a couple of young men in there with Clara?”
“No, only one. There isn’t a sound.”

it’s kind o’ tough on a girl that marries one of us travelin’ men.
“Still, it might be worse. I suppose you’re away from home most of the

[Image unavailable.]
BOTANY IN THE BOWERY
“Where did you get those flowers, little girl? Off a tree?”
“No, sir.”
“Off a bush?”
“No, sir.”
“Where?”
“Off a lady.”

[Image unavailable.]
“I don’t think married life is ever happy, anyway.”
“Then, why don’t you divorce your husband?”
“I’d rather quarrel with him than with strangers.”

[Image unavailable.]
Editor: Have you ever written any editorials?
College Graduate: No, sir; but I think I might train my mind down to

dearest? I’d like you to choose the ring yourself.”
“In that case perhaps you’d better save up a little longer, darling.”

[Image unavailable.]
A SAVING GRACE
“Louise, I really cannot permit you to read novels on Sunday.”
“But, Grandmamma, this novel is all right; it tells about a girl who was

[Image unavailable.]
A TRAGIC MOMENT FOR SMYTH (WHO MARRIED FOR A HOME)
Mrs. S. (who has the money) objects to the size of his tailor’s bill.

[Image unavailable.]
WHEN THEY GET THEIR RIGHTS
“It’s only fair to warn you that my son has never had a father’s care

The bestselling novel of the same name by author and illustrator John A.

The plot had me a bit puzzled for the first few minutes, but once I'd sorted out the odd characters in my mind, it was highly entertaining. It's a comic play about the way insular people react to those who are different. There are some choice characters: moronic villagers who don't like outsiders (reminded me of a well-known writer's comment about bigots in Barnsley, treating her badly when she was a girl because her mother was French.....), the nutty inventor with his head in the clouds, the sister who's a different person every day... very good radio. Stephen Thorne on top form, too, as the


Brighton Road

settled method; the second is found in the fact of the Brighton Road
being not only the best known of highways, but also the one most

The Bolney and Hickstead Route
Hand Cross
33½
Bolney
39
Hickstead
40½
Savers Common
42
Newtimber
44½
Pyecombe
45
Brighton
50½

and rejoining the initial route at Pyecombe.
VARIOUS ROUTES
The oldest road to Brighton is now but little used. It is not to be

Steyning, bringing up the total mileage to sixty-one miles three furlongs.
This multiplicity of ways meant that, in the variety of winding lanes

present “record” route in its entirety existed at all.
Among the many isolated roads made or improved, which did not in the

time the Brighton Road became free throughout.
Meanwhile, the road from London to Croydon was repaired in 1718; and at

seen, Brighton had begun to be the goal of these improvements.
The New Chapel and Copthorne road, on the East Grinstead route, was

groups of pedestrians of all ranks and appearances lined each side.”
On their way they pass Hyde Park Corner, where they encounter one of a

the characters of their bearers, are self-explanatory.
Dashall points his lordship out to his companion, who is new to London

mould the world to their own form.
THE PRINCE
The character of George the Fourth has been the theme of writers upon

so high and so impetuous, and impulses so generous as then were his.
He proves what we may abundantly learn from other sources, that the

did much to spoil the Prince.
To quote Walpole again: “It made men smile to find that in the palace of

...; such were the fruits of his being locked up in the palace of piety.”
He proved, too, an intractable and undutiful son; but that was the result

“And may all your wives be like her!”
All high-spirited young England flocked to the side of the Prince of

all: it is an accompaniment of royalty.
Thackeray denounced his wig; but there is a prejudice in favour of flowing

poet, are what they seem, and nothing else.
They lash t

The first book in the series of novels by the author of "The Last Word" (1996), "The First Word" is a collection of short stories written by the writer of "Anthony", "The Second Word" and "The Third Word" (1999).

SHE WAS A MISTRESS OF DISASTER--AND HE DEMANDED SHE KEEP HER DISTANCE!
With his broad shoulders and flashing dark eyes, Lord Ravenel could have stepped from the pages of lady author Gwenda Vickers's gothic novels!
Certainly she hadn't meant to eavesdrop on his marriage proposal--nor overhear the lady's refusal. But certainly he would welcome her advice--as a seasoned writer, of course--on the art of romance.
But Ravenel fairly cursed the imperturbable Miss Vickers. Her penchant for disaster and her boot-chewing hound were enough to drive a man to Bedlam! How shocked he was, then, to discover h


Invader (Foreigner, #2)

interpreted the smells of hate and fear all about him.
The crowd scattered wildly at his approach, but he was being followed.

glanced down to see it streaked with red.
Ahead of him a line of bipeds all clothed in identical blue sacs of

the building nearest him and clung there, gasping.
A white-faced creature appeared and began poking at him with a steel rod

advancing all the while, a tiny glass vial in his hands.
Without knowing why, the Triomed felt his lips pull away from his teeth

The biped stopped, and the Triomed could smell his sudden fear.
He felt a surge of incomprehensible rage come over him—he crouched

menacingly.
The creature took a step closer. Another. The Triomed tensed.
The creature was within reach, extending the vial. The alien could see

that it was tipped with a sliver of steel. He sprang—
The weapons crashed. The alien felt the thudding impact of projectiles

would die. And if he died, Triom would die.
He felt his huge body totter. There was another blast from the weapons

relief at the huge body on the roof.
"I've seen him a dozen times in the park," one said. "He always seemed

The saga of the Triom is a story of a young alien who is reborn into a human society. He is unable to survive the life of his parents, and his father's death is ruled by the tyrant.

Nearly two centuries after the starship Phoenix disappeared into the heavens, leaving an isolated colony of humans on the world of the atevi, it unexpectedly returns to orbit overhead, threatening the stability of both atevi and human governments.
With the situation fast becoming critical, Bren Cameron, the brilliant, young paidhi to the court of the atevi is recalled from Mospheira where he has just undergone surgery. But his sudden and premature return to the mainland is cause for more than mere physical discomfort. For during his brief absence, his government has sent in his paidhi-successo


Back from Hell

Germans whom they right well hated.
[Pg 2]Others were going, and made no bones about saying so, because they were

would deal justly and kindly with his neighbor.
It is a natural tendency, I suppose, of most ministers to be optimistic

intended that they should and this wicked rivalry and jealousy would cease.
It seemed to me that even my fellow-Americans, along with the French and

rate. For He did use violence occasionally, when it was necessary.
"If a man smite thee on one cheek, turn the other also," was my motto,

told me, was my ideal man, and the only real Christian since Jesus.
I had also said there would never be another war; a war of any size. I

committing murder and breaking God's great law.
My father had also been a minister, and he was so meek and peaceful that

sometimes alienated even my admirers by my doctrine.
However, after Europe went to war I could see the storm gathering in the

God's commandment,
"THOU SHALT NOT KILL."
I did not believe in killing. I had lectured with David Starr Jordan and

when I went abroad to study, it was a German university that I sought.
I knew of course that Germany's military system was a despotic one and

reconciled. So in a few weeks' time I was on my way.
When I embarked upon that great ship in New York I was alone. And I want

often wonder what was ahead for me.
After a week and a half on the ocean we finally landed on the coast of

[Pg 9]
CHAPTER II RED TAPE IN TRAVELING
As we bumped into the dock at Havre I was given my first scare. I was

than its weakest link, and I had to possess every link in this chain of paper.
I remember one fellow who had lost his permit to come to Paris. When he

it with the man who issued the permit.
The reason for all this is that every nation in the war takes it for

full of spies and peace propagandists.
If you travel at all through the country by automobile, you have to come

[Pg 15]
CHAPTER III HOW I GOT INTO THE SERVICE
My first formal call when I got to Paris

The book is a collection of essays by the author, including his essay "The War of the World" (1996).

Book 1 in the Night Stalkers series. They are Night Stalkers, two sisters born to hunt and destroy evil. For years a man has joined Jenai in her dreams. He makes sweet, hot love to her, and knows her better than anyone else. Now she has finally met him. After years of searching, Ronan has found her. His mate, the woman he has dreamed of for decades. He has been sent to recruit her and her sister Stephanie to join the powerful organization he works for. If he can't recruit them...he has orders to kill them. A trap has been set-intended to kill them all. Fighting their way to freedom, Ronan and


The Crow's Nest (The White Pearl Book 2)

PAGE
The Three Tigers3
As They Go Riding By7
A Man Gets Up in the Morning15
Odd Countries18
On Cows26
Stroom and Graith28
Legs vs. Architects44
To Phoebe49
Sex, Religion and Business51
An Ode to Trade63
Objections to Reading65

The Man Who Knew Gods109
Improving the Lives of the Rich118
From Noah to Now128
Sic Semper Dissenters135
Humpty Dumpty and Adam137
How It Looks to a Fish142
A Hopeful Old Bigamist147
The Revolt of Capital154
Still Reading Away161

A Wild Polish Hero165
Mrs. P.'s Side of It173
The Death of Logan183
Portrait of a Lady190
Grandfather's Three Lives198
Story of a Farmer217

too serious and the best thing to do is to deaden it.
Humor is an opiate for the soul, says Francis

"Go now from the shore,
Far ruined: the grey shingly floor
To thy crashing step answers, the doteril cries,
And on dipping wing flies:
'Tis their silence!"

"I turned in my saddle and made the girths tight,
Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right,
Rebuckled the check-strap, chained slacker the bit—"

"I mounted, now, my patient nag,
And scaled the easy steep;
And soon beheld the quiet flag
On Lanson's solemn Keep.
But he was writing jokes for Punch;
So I, who knew him well,
Deciding not to stay for lunch,
Returned to my hotel."

All the other stars are good
And revolve the way they should.
You alone, of that bright throng,
Will persist in going wrong.

Never mind what God has said—
We have made a Law instead.
Have you never heard of this
Neb-u-lar Hy-poth-e-sis?

It prescribes, in terms exact,
Just how every star should act.
Tells each little satellite
Where to go and whirl at night.[50]
Disobedience incurs
Anger of astronomers,
Who—you mustn't think it odd—
Are more finicky than God.

So, my dear, you'd better change.
Really, we can't rearrange
Every chart from Mars to Hebe
Just to fit a chit like Phoebe.
[51]

to watch them openly. Why hide yourself?"
"Because it's much more exciting."
"I dare say, but I adv

The first book in the series of novels by American author and astronomer John A. Heinlein, this is the first book to be published in the United States. It was published in 1897, and is the second edition of the series.

This is a confluence of two imaginative minds. It's a story drenched with rich, deep prose filled with spiritual and emotional discovery. It's got it all with a big helping of hot sauce ... well, very, very big helping! Hope you like spicy.
It's a tapestry of self-discovery, woven together with mythological symbolism, raw emotional scars and unvarnished sexuality that surrounds the lives of Jack Cavallaro and Linzi Basset, who, by pure chance, come together to share their crippled lives, warts and all. It is a confessional treatise, a mutual acknowledgement of their own demons. And through the


Nor Iron Bars a Cage

until Doc Prouty does the post on her."
I took a firm grip on my temper. I should have been notified as soon

story at the scene without my help."
That mollified him, and it showed a little on his face. "O.K., Roy,

one side. All he said was, "Hi, Roy."
The morgue attendant lifted up one small arm with a gloved hand and

stiff." It was an old joke, but everybody grinned out of habit.
The clear water from the hose flowed over the skin and turned a

stainless-steel trough in which the body was lying.
One of the lab techs stepped over and began going through the long

cleaning out the mouth and nose and eyes and ears with careful hands.
I turned to Kleek. "You sure it's the Donahue girl?"
He sighed and looked away from the small dead thing on the cleaning

school record."
I had to agree. "What about the time of death?"
"Doc Prouty figures forty-eight to sixty hours ago."
"I'll be able to give you a better figure after the post," the Medical

The FBI man followed me into the outer room.
"Do you figure this as a sex-degenerate case, Inspector?" he asked.
"Looks like it. You saw the bruises. Dr. Prouty will be able to tell

us for sure after the post mortem."
He shook his head as if to clear it of a bad memory. "You New York

police can sure be cold-blooded at times."
The thing that was bothering him, as Kleek and I both knew, was that

doesn't normally come under the aegis of the FBI.
"We're not cold blooded," I said. "Not by inclination, I mean. But a

known the girl was missing at all at the time the note was sent."
"That's the way it seems to me," he agreed. The color was coming back

instead of ... of what it was? The penalty's the same for both."
My grin had anger, pity, and disgust for the killer in it—plus a

mirror when I feel like that.
"He was hoping the body wouldn't be found until it was too late for us

I wish you luck. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to call the office."
As he went out to the desk phone, I gave him a silent thanks. Words

The sex-degenerate case of the girl who was missing at the time the note was sent.

First I was a sorcerer. Then I was a hermit. For so long--for years that seemed to go on forever--I couldn't bear to be touched. I put up not just walls but whole stone bunkers to keep everyone out, emotionally, and physically as well. I was protected from people, from ghosts, from specters real and imagined. Sure, I was alone. But I felt safe. Only, after a while, I wasn't sure any longer whether a totally "safe" empty life was really worth living.
Then Tobin came along. Out of the blue, out of my past, with a summons from the king that he wouldn't let me ignore. I tried to cling to my isolat


About the Holy Bible: A Lecture

A FEW wandering families—poor, wretched; without education, art or
      power; descendants of those who had been enslaved for four hundred years;
      ignorant as the inhabitants of Central Africa—had just escaped from
      their masters to the desert of Sinai.

Their leader was Moses, a man who had been raised in the family of
      Pharaoh, and had been taught the law and mythology of Egypt. For the
      purpose of controlling his followers he pretended that he was instructed
      and assisted by Jehovah, the god of these wanderers.

Many centuries after Moses, the leader, was dead—many centuries
      after all his followers had passed away—the Pentateuch was written,
      the work of many writers, and to give it force and authority it was
      claimed that Moses was the author.

It is also admitted that Joshua did not write the book that bears his
      name, because it refers to events that did not happen until long after his
      death.

No one knows, or pretends to know, the author of Judges; all we know is
      that it was written centuries after all the judges had ceased to exist. No
      one knows the author of Ruth, nor of First and Second Samuel; all we know
      is that Samuel did not write the books that bear his name. In the 25th
      chapter of First Samuel is an account of Samuel's death, and in the 27th
      chapter is an account of the raising of Samuel by the Witch of Endor.

No one knows the author of First and Second Kings or First and Second
      Chronicles; all we know is that these books are of no value.

We know that the Psalms were not written by David. In the Psalms the
      Captivity is spoken of, and that did not happen until about five hundred
      years after David slept with his fathers.

We know that Solomon did not write the Proverbs or the Song; that Isaiah
      was not the author of the book that bears his name; that no one knows the
      author of Job, Ecclesiastes or Esther, or of any book

The book of Job is a collection of verses from the Bible, which are written in the form of a poem. It is based on the biblical story of Job, and is accompanied by a commentary on the Biblical text.

This is an EXACT reproduction of a book published before 1923. This IS NOT an OCR'd book with strange characters, introduced typographical errors, and jumbled words. This book may have occasional imperfections such as missing or blurred pages, poor pictures, errant marks, etc. that were either part of the original artifact, or were introduced by the scanning process. We believe this work is culturally important, and despite the imperfections, have elected to bring it back into print as part of our continuing commitment to the preservation of printed works worldwide. We appreciate your understa


The Works of Horace

placid head of some sacred stream.
The camp, and the sound of the trumpet mingled with that of the clarion,

ODE III.
TO THE SHIP, IN WHICH VIRGIL WAS ABOUT TO SAIL TO ATHENS.
So may the goddess who rules over Cyprus; so may the bright stars, the

Phoebus, formidable for thy unerring dart.
I will sing also of Hercules, and the sons of Leda, the one illustrious

ODE XIV.
TO THE ROMAN STATE.
O ship, new waves will bear you back again to sea. O what are you doing?

ODE XVI.
TO A YOUNG LADY HORACE HAD OFFENDED.
O daughter, more charming than your charming mother, put what end you

THE SECOND BOOK OF THE ODES OF HORACE.
ODE I.
TO ASINIUS POLLIO.
You are treating of the civil commotion, which began from the consulship

ODE XV.
AGAINST THE LUXURY OF THE ROMANS.
The palace-like edifices will in a short time leave but a few acres for

ODE XIX.
ON BACCHUS.
A DITHYRAMBIC, OR DRINKING SONG.
I saw Bacchus (believe it, posterity) dictating strains among the remote

THE THIRD BOOK OF THE ODES OF HORACE.
ODE I.
ON CONTENTMENT.
I abominate the uninitiated vulgar, and keep them at a distance.

ODE II.
AGAINST THE DEGENERACY OF THE ROMAN YOUTH.
Let the robust youth learn patiently to endure pinching want in the

ODE V.
ON THE RECOVERY OF THE STANDARDS FROM PHRAATES.
We believe from his thundering that Jupiter has dominion in the heavens:

fates would spare her, my surviving soul.
LYD. Calais, the son of the Thurian Ornitus, inflames me with a mutual

door again open to slighted Lydia.
LYD. Though he is fairer than a star, thou of more levity than a cork,

ODE XXVII.
TO GALATEA, UPON HER GOING TO SEA.
Let the omen of the noisy screech-owl and a pregnant bitch, or a tawny

THE FOURTH BOOK OF THE ODES OF HORACE.
ODE I.
TO VENUS.
After a long cessation, O Venus, again are you stirring up tumults?

ODE XV.
TO AUGUSTUS, ON THE RESTORATION OF PEACE.
Phoebus chid me, when I was meditating to sing of battles And conquered

THE BOOK OF THE EPODES OF HORACE.
ODE

The epoch of the Trojan War is a time when the world was in turmoil. The war was fought between the Roman Empire and the Greeks, and the conflict was a battle between the Greek and the Romans. The conflict was waged by the Roman army, which had been fighting for centuries. The battle was dominated by the Persians, who were allied with the Ottomans. They were a force of the Roman empire, and they were able to fight against the Persian Empire.

This book was converted from its physical edition to the digital format by a community of volunteers. You may find it for free on the web. Purchase of the Kindle edition includes wireless delivery.


The Black Opal

looking straight in front of him.
Buggies, horses, and people, they had come all the way from her home at

straw hat too, and she had on a pair of black cotton gloves.
Sophie could not believe her mother was what they called "dead"; that it

waited to watch the sun set, or the moon rise, so often.
She glanced at her father. He was sitting beside her, a piece of black

mind went back over that.
"She's dead, Michael," Mrs. Grant had said.
And she had leaned against the window beside her mother's bed, crying.

people had cried so much and she had not cried at all.
When Potch was taking the bucket of milk across the yard, her father had

saw him.
Catching sight of them, he had turned and come towards them.
"We're on opal," he cried; "on opal!"
There was a feverish light in his eyes; he was trembling with

three small knobbies in his hand.
Potch looked at him dazedly.
"Didn't they tell you—?" he began.
Her father had closed his hands over the stones and opal dirt.
"I'm going in now," he said, thrusting the opals into the bag.
He had gone towards the house again, shouting: "We're on opal! On opal!"
Sophie followed him indoors. Mrs. Grant had met her father on the

threshold of the room where her mother was.
"Why didn't you come when I sent for you?" she asked.
"I didn't think it could be as bad as you made out—that she was really

he sat beside her.
"She was so good, Michael," he said, "too good for this world."
Michael did not reply.
"Too good for this world!" Paul murmured again.
He had said that at least a score of times this morning. Sophie had

like that....
And her mother had said:
"You'll take care of Sophie, Michael?"
Sophie remembered how she had stood in the doorway of her mother's room,

reluctant to move, afraid almost. Michael had nodded without speaking.
"As though she were your own child?"
"So help me, God," Michael said.
Her-mother's eyes had rested on Michael's face. She had smiled at him.

although her smile had always been lik

The story of a young woman who is a snobby, sexy, and a little girl who is in love with her father.

Abandoned as a baby, her exotic beauty prompted hushed whispers of gypsy blood. But lovely Carmel March remained shrouded in mystery....
When tragedy struck her adopted home of Commonwood House, little Carmel had been bundled off to Australia. Returning to England as a young woman, she became haunted by questions from her past, as well as the shocking revelation that she had been rushed from a murder scene those many years ago.
Yet she was convinced that the wrong man had been sentenced for the crime. Was the answer locked away in her childhood memory -- or in the dark, secretive behavior of h


The Cycle of Spring

The greater part of the introductory portion of this drama was translated from the original Bengali by Mr. C. F. Andrews and Prof. Nishikanta Sen, and revised by the Author.

[1]
INTRODUCTION
Characters of the Prelude
King, Vizier, General (Bijoy Varma)
Chinese Ambassador, Pundit (Sruti-bhushan)
Poet (Kabi-shekhar), Guards, Courtiers, Herald
The stage is on two levels: the higher, at the back, for the

free for the "Play" when that develops.
(Enter some Courtiers.)
[The names of the speakers are not given in the margin, as they

can easily be guessed.]
Hush! Hush!
What is the matter?
The King is in great distress.
How dreadful!
Who is that over there, playing on his flute?
Why? What's the matter?
The King is greatly disturbed.
How dreadful!
What are those wild children doing, making so much noise?
They are the Mandal family.
Then tell the Mandal family to keep their children quiet.[3]
Where can that Vizier have gone to?
Here I am. What's the matter?
Haven't you heard the news?
No, what?
The King is greatly troubled in his mind.
Well, I've got some very important news about the frontier war.
War we may have, but not the news.
Then the Chinese Ambassador is waiting to see His Majesty.
Let him wait. Anyhow he can't see the King.
Can't see the King?—Ah, here is the King at last. Look at him

Long live the King."[4]
If it please Your Majesty, it is time to go to the Court.
Time to go? Yes, time to go, but not to the Court.
What does Your Majesty mean?
Haven't you heard? The bell has just been rung to dismiss the

Court.
When? What bell? We haven't heard any bell.
How could you hear? They have rung it in my ears alone.
Oh, Sire. No one can have had the impertinence to do that.
Vizier! They are ringing it now.
Pardon me, Sire, if I am very stupid; but I cannot understand.
Look at this, Vizier, look at this.
Your Majesty's hair——
Can't you see there's a bell-ringer there?[5]
Oh, Your Majesty. Are you playing a joke?
The joke is not

The story of the king and his daughter is a tale of love, friendship, and the power of the King.

Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941), also known by the sobriquet Gurudev, was a Bengali poet, Brahmo Samaj philosopher, visual artist, playwright, novelist, and composer whose works reshaped Bengali literature and music in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. A cultural icon of Bengal and India, he became Asia's first Nobel laureate when he won the 1913 Nobel Prize in Literature. A Pirali Bengali Brahmin from Calcutta, Tagore first wrote poems at age eight. He published his first substantial poetry under the pseudonym Bhanushingho (Sun Lion). Tagore's works included numerous novels, short-stori


Moods

longing in your eye?"
"No."
"Was it of a fairer or a dearer friend than I?"
"Yes."
The black brows contracted ominously, the mouth grew

entreaty a command.
"Let me know the name, Adam."
"Self-respect."
She laughed low to herself, and the mobile features softened

do when he discovers it?"
"Repent and mend his ways; need I tell you that?"
"I have repented; will you help me mend my ways?"
"Confess, dear sinner; I will shrive you and grant absolution

for the past, whatever it may be."
"How much would you do for love of me?"
"Anything for you, Adam."
"Then give me back my liberty."
He rose erect and stretched his hands to her with a gesture

out at her eyes, and she asked incredulously—
"Do you mean it?"
"Yes; now, entirely, and forever!"
If he had lifted his strong arm and struck her, it would

I cannot give it up; you shall not take it from me!"
But as if the words had made the deed irrevocable, Warwick

again there was more reproach than anger in his voice.[12]
"Ottila, till I knew you I loved no woman but my

subdued you, and with your own weapon, the bare truth."
He had said truly, "You shall see me at my best as at

never imitate, and in owning a defeat achieved a victory.
"You think I shall deny this. I do not, but acknowledge

the dominion you assert."
"You cannot throw it off; it is too late."
It was a rash defiance; she saw that as it passed her

at a taunt to which past weakness gives a double sting—
"It never is too late. If the priest stood ready, and I

work in the world without our adding to it."
"You cannot escape with honor, Adam."
"I cannot remain with honor. Do not try me too hardly,

your world recognizes, both for your sake and my own."
She watched him as he spoke, and to herself confessed a

tears, and said with an earnest, humble voice—
"I, too, desire to be just. I will not reproach, defy, or

More gently, but as inflexibly as before, he said—
"I do put out my hand and offer you the same bitter

for Ottila, and when

The epoch of the first book in the series of novels by the author, Warwick, is marked by the discovery of a new world. The story of the emigrants from the United States and the settlers of the country are told in a way that is both familiar and ambiguous.

Part novel and part memoir, Yoel Hoffmann's Moods is flooded with feelings, evoked by his family, losses, loves, the soul's hidden powers, old phone books, and life in the Galilee--with its every scent, breeze, notable dog, and odd neighbor. Carrying these shards is a general tenderness, accentuated by a new dimension brought along by "that great big pill of Prozac." Beautifully translated by Peter Cole, Moodsis fiction for lovers of poetry and poetry for lovers of fiction--a small marvel of a book, and with its pockets of joy, a curiously cheerful book by an author who once compared himself t


Notwithstanding

or twice in a lifetime placid, gentle-tempered people.
Her dark eyes under their long curled lashes looked down over the stone

But there was no mystery in them at this moment. They were fixed, dilated, desperate.
Annette was twenty-one, but she looked much younger, owing to a certain

unready wings, into a world for which she was not fully equipped.
And Annette, pale gentle Annette, standing on the threshold of life,

thinking of throwing herself into the water!
Not here, of course, but lower down, perhaps near St. Germains. No, not

determined woman might wade out from the bank till the current took her.
The remembrance of a certain expedition to Melun rose suddenly before

her, and it had turned savagely against herself.
Strange how in youth our first crushing defeat in the experiment of

came to her father's cabaret in the Rue du Bac.
"Good morning, mademoiselle."
"Good morning, M. Le Geyt."
He came and leaned on the parapet beside her.
[Pg 5]"Are you not riding to-day?"
"Riding to-day! Ride on the Flat! Is it likely? Besides, I had a fall

yesterday schooling. My neck is stiff."
He did not add that he had all but broken it. Indeed, it was probable

that he had already forgotten the fact.
He looked hard at her with his dancing, irresponsible blue eyes. He had

if he were being blown through life by any chance wind, the wind of his own vagaries.
His manner had just the shade of admiring familiarity which to some men

seems admissible to the pretty daughter of a disreputable old innkeeper.
He peered down at the river, and then at the houses crowding along its

yellow quays, mysterious behind their paint as a Frenchwoman behind her pomade and powder.
Then he looked back at her with mock solemnity.
"I see nothing," he said.
"What did you expect to see?"
"Something that had the honour of engaging your attention completely."
"I was looking at the water."
"Just so. But why?"
[Pg 6]She paused a moment, and then said, without any change of voice—
"

The first book in the series of novels by the author, 'The Adventures of Annette', is a story of a young woman who has been swept up in the world of the 'Feyt'. She is unable to find her way back to the land of the free and the secluded, and she is unsure of where she will go next.

As the world around it marches forward, the bucolic English village of Notwithstanding remains unchanged. It is, as it always has been, a place of pubs and cricket pitches, where local eccentrics--a retired colonel who has eschewed clothes, a spiritualist living with the ghost of her husband, and a dog named Archibald Scott-Moncrieff--almostfit in. In this delightfully evocative collection of stories, in which a young couple falls in and out of love by letter alone, an eleven-year-old boy battles a monstrous fish, and a man of the cloth has a premonition of death, Louis de Bernieres conjures u


Myself When Young: The Shaping of a Writer

taxi have exposed to high derision.
And it was in such a mood, after such a decision, on a wet, breathless

letter addressed to me in a bright green envelope.
There is only one person who writes to me in bright green envelopes, and

of the state of mind that is upon us at this late hour.
Slowly I ran my eye along the shelves. There in the corner of the wall

prospects. But I disclaimed the rôle of prophet.
“One can’t begin to guess,” I said; “a magazine is like a novel: it’s

guinea. It is, it must always be, a pure gamble.”
And I remember thinking that it was doubtless for this reason that the

dinner to settle down happily before a solid scholarly review.
The editor has put his paper to bed; he leans back exhausted in his

“that I haven’t got to read it.”
That is the problem for an editor. If he prints what he would himself

the essence of the evening that we had spent together.
“We have talked,” I said, “much of cricket, of the great matches that we

is{21} the sort of stuff that I would like to read in my paper.”
The fire had begun to burn merrily in the grate; the warm light fell

thoughts wander out of my control on their lazy, haphazard journey.{23}
II
ABOUT a year ago my American publishers asked me to send them some

hour between half-past three and tea to a “siesta of sensual reverie.”
But that is the way with time-tables. There would seem to be no half-way

house. You must either scrap them or become their slave.
Habits are different, though. It is nice to know that, at a certain time

October and the end of March for more than six days on end.
But this, you will say, is folly, a supreme example of the perverse

not care. You hardly notice. You have scored a try.
You get at rugger something that you can get nowhere else. It is the

not unfittingly, perhaps, in early manhood.
To give up football is to change the pattern of your life. You will drop

What suit was I wearing? What friend had I just seen?
And gradually, detail by detail, I re-

The first book in the series of novels by the author, "The Countess of the Count of the Rings" is a collection of short stories written by the writer.

Pinpointing the literary influences and the first stirrings of books to be written in later years, this is Daphne du Maurier's story of her early life, in the years before she wrote her celebrated novels, Rebecca, Frenchman's Creek and Jamaica Inn. It is a relaxed evocation of her first 24 years, a world of famous names, of idyllic summers in Regent's Park and Hampstead, of dinner parties and flirtations, nocturnal excursions and grand winter holidays in Switzerland, Brittany and Paris - and the house by the river in Cornwall. The book provides clues to du Maurier's enigmatic personality and t


Pursuit

they were gone. But he couldn't let them go. If they escaped....
Hawkes jerked upright in his bed, gasping out a hoarse cry, and the

had to get out—had to leave—at once!
He forced the idea aside. There was something cloudy in his mind, but

reversed it to play. But the tape seemed to be blank, or erased.
He crushed the cigarette out on a table-top where other butts lay in

mail-box and taken out a letter—a letter from a Professor....
His mind refused to go further. There was only a complete blank after

his mind.
They'll get you! You can't escape! Hurry, go, GO!...
The cigarette fell from his shaking hands, and he was half out of the

cobweb in one corner by the mirror.
His own face shocked him. It was the same lean, sharp-featured face as

bony, average-height figure shook visibly as he climbed from the bed.
Hawkes stood fighting himself, trying to get back in the bed, but it

thrust his feet into shoes, not bothering with socks.
A slip of paper fell from his coat, with big sprawled Greek letters.

until they were behind, and he was charging out of the front door.
A half-drunken couple was coming in—a fat, older man and a slim girl

heart could endure the next beat.
Across the street, the fat man he had hit was coming after him. Hawkes

street a second before. They'd tried—but he'd escaped in time.
It must have been a thermite bomb—nothing but thermite could be that

flashlight in the young man's hands pinpointed him. A yell went up.
"There he goes!"
His feet sounded hopelessly on the sidewalk as he dashed up toward

couldn't remember? Or what spy-ring had encircled him?
He had no time to think of the questions, even. He ducked into the

group rounded the corner, with the slim young man in the lead.
Their cries were enough. Hands reached for him from the theater crowd,

behind the train, and avoiding the the high-voltage rails.
The uptown platform held only three people, and they seemed to be too

prove more dangerous. He had to chance it.
He sto

The story of a young woman who is a snobby, sexy, and a rebellious teenager.

Thirteen bodies are discovered inside a small Louisville restaurant just after closing time. The ferocity and apparent randomness of the crime prompt the police to call in criminology professor DanielMillikan-they want a profile of the murderer. Millikan determines that the crime was committed not by a psychopath but by a professional killer of consummate skill and total lack of feeling: "I think that the onewho did it is one of the special cases. He's somebody we can't afford to have walking down a street where our families walk." When Millikan learns that the investigation has come to a comp


Pictures Of People: Alice Neels American Portrait Gallery

[Image unavailable.]
 THEIR PRESENCE OF MIND.
They had been in their room but a moment when they were startled by a knock.

[Image unavailable.]
 “Did I understand you to say, John, that the tenor married the contralto?“
“Yes. The choir was to be disbanded, and that was the only means of continuing their quarrel.“

[Image unavailable.]
 The Doctor: Did you give my note to Mrs. Barton?
“Great Scott! I thought it was a prescription and made it up for her.“

[Image unavailable.]
 Sympathetic plain friend to inconsolable young widow: The last time I met your dear husband he stopped and spoke to me with such a sunny greeting that I was the happier for it all day long.
Young widow (still oblivious to everything except her loss): Yes, that was just like dear David. There was no woman so humble or homely, or unattractive, or dull, but that he could find something pleasant to say to her, and would take pains to say it.—

[Image unavailable.]
 EXTRACT FROM THE WILL.
“And I further direct that in the event of the remarriage of my said wife Sophia, all her share and interest in the aforesaid capital sum

[Image unavailable.]
 AT THREE IN THE AFTERNOON.
“Hello, old man! Been up all night?“
“No; I’m going to take a Harlem girl to a theatre party in Brooklyn.“

[Image unavailable.]
 THE POWER OF LOVE.
There was a silence deep as death;
And the boldest held his breath,
For a time. Campbell.

be politic, I suppose.
“No, don’t you do it! After he’d won all your money he’d never let us marry.“

“The wrong man? But that is vague. Who is the wrong man?“
“The man a girl marries, of course.“
{77}

[Image unavailable.]
 THAT SON-IN-LAW.
“Papa, George says he is very much worried about his income.“
“I shouldn’t think he would worry about a little thing like that.“

[Image unavailable.]
 “If we go to Europe, Cynthia, I don’t want you to marry any of them counts or dukes. You

[Image unavailable.]
 A CHILD OF FORTUNE.
He: I came within an ace of running over a lady t

The epoch of the first novel, "The Last Word," is a story of a young woman who has been swept up in the world of the arts. She is unable to find her way back to the world she was born into. Her life is shattered when she is swept away by the world's most powerful man.

In this generously illustrated and vibrant chronicle of the life and work of prolific painter and bohemian eccentric Alice Neel, Pamela Allara shows how portraits from a career spanning the 1920s to the 1970s constitute a virtual gallery of American cultural history. While some of Neel's portraits graced the covers of publications like Ms. and Time, most of her subjects were unknowns -- the marginalized, the disenfranchised, the oppressed.
"Every person is a new universe unique with its own laws," Neel once said, but these arresting images of Greenwich Village intelligentsia, of Latinos and La