THE VOICE OF DEATHONCE upon a time there lived a man whose one wish and prayerwas to get rich. Day and night he thought of nothing else,and at last his prayers were granted, and he became very wealthy.Now being so rich, and having so much to lose, he felt that it wouldbe a terrible thing to die and leave all his possessions behind; so hemade up his mind to set out in search of a land where there was nodeath. He got ready for his journey, took leave of his wife, andstarted. Whenever he came to a new country the first questionthat he asked was whether people died in that land, and when heheard that they did, he set out again on his quest. At last he...　

De Profundisby Oscar Wilde. . . Suffering is one very long moment. We cannot divide it byseasons. We can only record its moods, and chronicle their return.With us time itself does not progress. It revolves. It seems tocircle round one centre of pain. The paralysing immobility of alife every circumstance of which is regulated after an unchangeablepattern, so that we eat and drink and lie down and pray, or kneelat least for prayer, according to the inflexible laws of an ironformula: this immobile quality, that makes each dreadful day inthe very minutest detail like its brother, seems to communicateitself to those external forces the very essence of whose existence...　

Historic Girlsby E. S. BrooksSTORIES OF GIRLS WHO HAVE INFLUENCED THEHISTORY OF THEIR TIMESE. S. BROOKSPREFACE.In these progressive days, when so much energy and discussion aredevoted to what is termed equality and the rights of woman, it iswell to remember that there have been in the distant past women,and girls even, who by their actions and endeavors provedthemselves the equals of the men of their time in valor,shrewdness, and ability.This volume seeks to tell for the girls and boys of to-day thestories of some of their sisters of the long-ago,girls who byeminent position or valiant deeds became historic even before...　

410 BCLYSISTRATAby Aristophanesanonymous translatorCHARACTERS IN THE PLAYLYSISTRATACLEONICEMYRRHINELAMPITOMAGISTRATESCINESIASCHILD OF CINESIASHERALD OF THE LACEDAEMONIANSENVOYS OF THE LACEDAEMONIANSAN ATHENIAN CITIZENCHORUS OF OLD MENCHORUS OF WOMENLYSISTRATALYSISTRATA(SCENE:-At the base of the Orchestra are two buildings, the houseof LYSISTRATA and the entrance to the Acropolis; a winding and...　

The Essays of Montaigne, V3by Michel de MontaigneTranslated by Charles CottonEdited by William Carew Hazilitt1877CONTENTS OF VOLUME 3.XIII. The ceremony of the interview of princes.XIV. That men are justly punished for being obstinate in the defenceof a fort that is not in reason to be defendedXV. Of the punishment of cowardice.XVI. A proceeding of some ambassadors.XVII. Of fear.XVIII. That men are not to judge of our happiness till after death.XIX. That to study philosophy is to learn to die.XX. Of the force of imagination.XXI. That the profit of one man is the damage of another....　

The Chaperonby Henry JamesCHAPTER I.An old lady, in a high drawing-room, had had her chair moved close tothe fire, where she sat knitting and warming her knees. She wasdressed in deep mourning; her face had a faded nobleness, tempered,however, by the somewhat illiberal compression assumed by her lips inobedience to something that was passing in her mind. She was farfrom the lamp, but though her eyes were fixed upon her active needlesshe was not looking at them. What she really saw was quite anothertrain of affairs. The room was spacious and dim; the thick Londonfog had oozed into it even through its superior defences. It wasfull of dusky, massive, valuable things. The old lady sat mot　

The Water-Babiesby Charles KingsleyCHAPTER I"I heard a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sate reclined; In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind."To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran; And much it grieved my heart to think, What man has made of man."WORDSWORTH.Once upon a time there was a little chimney-sweep, and his name was Tom. That is a short name, and you have heard it before, so you will not have much trouble in remembering it. He lived in a great town in the North country, where there were plenty of chimneys to sweep, and plenty of money for Tom to earn and his master to spend. He could not read nor write, and　

The Turn of the Screwby Henry JamesThe story had held us, round the fire, sufficiently breathless,but except the obvious remark that it was gruesome, as, on ChristmasEve in an old house, a strange tale should essentially be,I remember no comment uttered till somebody happened to say that itwas the only case he had met in which such a visitation had fallenon a child. The case, I may mention, was that of an apparitionin just such an old house as had gathered us for the occasionan appearance, of a dreadful kind, to a little boy sleepingin the room with his mother and waking her up in the terror of it;waking her not to dissipate his dread and soothe him to sleep again,...　

The Essays of Montaigne, V5by Michel de MontaigneTranslated by Charles CottonEdited by William Carew Hazilitt1877CONTENTS OF VOLUME 5.XXV. Of the education of children.XXVI. That it is folly to measure truth and error by our owncapacity.CHAPTER XXVOF THE EDUCATION OF CHILDRENTO MADAME DIANE DE FOIX, Comtesse de GursonI never yet saw that father, but let his son be never so decrepit ordeformed, would not, notwithstanding, own him: not, nevertheless, if hewere not totally besotted, and blinded with his paternal affection, thathe did not well enough discern his defects; but that with all defaults he...　

ANTHEMANTHEMby Ayn Rand1- Page 2-ANTHEMPART ONEIt is a sin to write this. It is a sin to think words no others think andto put them down upon a paper no others are to see. It is base and evil. Itis as if we were speaking alone to no ears but our own. And we know wellthat there is no transgression blacker than to do or think alone. We havebroken the laws. The laws say that men may not write unless the Councilof Vocations bid them so. May we be forgiven!...　

THE YOUNG TSARTHE young Tsar had just ascended the throne.For five weeks he had worked without ceasing, inthe way that Tsars are accustomed to work. Hehad been attending to reports, signing papers, re-ceiving ambassadors and high officials who cameto be presented to him, and reviewing troops. Hewas tired, and as a traveller exhausted by heatand thirst longs for a draught of water and forrest, so he longed for a respite of just one dayat least from receptions, from speeches, fromparadesa few free hours to spend like an ordi-nary human being with his young, clever, andbeautiful wife, to whom he had been married onlya month before.It was Christmas Eve. The young Tsar had...　

In the Carquinez Woodsby Bret HarteCHAPTER I.The sun was going down on the Carquinez Woods. The few shafts ofsunlight that had pierced their pillared gloom were lost inunfathomable depths, or splintered their ineffectual lances onthe enormous trunks of the redwoods. For a time the dull red oftheir vast columns, and the dull red of their cast-off bark whichmatted the echoless aisles, still seemed to hold a faint glow ofthe dying day. But even this soon passed. Light and color fledupwards. The dark interlaced treetops, that had all day made animpenetrable shade, broke into fire here and there; their lostspires glittered, faded, and went utterly out. A weird twilight...