Dream Life and Real Life A Little African StoryDream Life and Real LifeA Little African Storyby Olive Schreiner1- Page 2-Dream Life and Real Life A Little African StoryAuthor of "The Story of an African Farm" and "Dreams"Dedication.To My Brother Fred,For whose little school magazine the first of these tiny storiesone of the first I ever madewas written out many long years ago.O.S.New College, Eastbourne, Sept. 29, 1893.Kopjes - In the karoo, are hillocks of stones, that rise up singly or in...　

Democracy In America, Volume 1by Alexis de ToquevilleTranslator - Henry ReeveBook OneIntroductionSpecial Introduction By Hon. John T. MorganIn the eleven years that separated the Declaration of the Independence of the United States from the completion of that act in the ordination of our written Constitution, the great minds of America were bent upon the study of the principles of government that were essential to the preservation of the liberties which had been won at great cost and with heroic labors and sacrifices. Their studies were conducted in view of the imperfections that experience had developed in the government of the Confederation, and they were, therefore, practical and thorou　

THE CRUISE OF THE JASPER B.THE CRUISE OF THEJASPER B.BY DON MARQUIS1- Page 2-THE CRUISE OF THE JASPER B.CHAPTER IA BRIGHT BLADE LEAPSFROM A RUSTY SCABBARDOn an evening in April, 191-, Clement J. Cleggett walked sedately intothe news room of the New York Enterprise with a drab-colored walking-stick in his hand. He stood the cane in a corner, changed his sober streetcoat for a more sober office jacket, adjusted a green eyeshade below his...　

Memoirs of General William T. Shermanby William Tecumseh ShermanVolume 1GENERAL W. T. SHERMANHIS COMRADES IN ARMS,VOLUNTEERS AND REGULARS.Nearly ten years have passed since the close of the civil war in America, and yet no satisfactory history thereof is accessible to the public; nor should any be attempted until the Government has published, and placed within the reach of students, the abundant materials that are buried in the War Department at Washington. These are in process of compilation; but, at the rate of progress for the past ten years, it is probable that a new century will come before they are published and circulated, with full indexes to enable the historian to make a judicious　

THE WRECK OF THE GOLDEN MARYTHE WRECK OF THEGOLDEN MARYCharles Dickens1- Page 2-THE WRECK OF THE GOLDEN MARYTHE WRECKI was apprenticed to the Sea when I was twelve years old, and I haveencountered a great deal of rough weather, both literal and metaphorical. Ithas always been my opinion since I first possessed such a thing as anopinion, that the man who knows only one subject is next tiresome to theman who knows no subject. Therefore, in the course of my life I have...　

The Antiquities of the Jews (1)by Flavius JosephusTranslated by William WhistonPREFACE.1. Those who undertake to write histories, do not, I perceive,take that trouble on one and the same account, but for manyreasons, and those such as are very different one from another.For some of them apply themselves to this part of learning toshow their skill in composition, and that they may thereinacquire a reputation for speaking finely: others of them thereare, who write histories in order to gratify those that happen tobe concerned in them, and on that account have spared no pains,but rather gone beyond their own abilities in the performance:but others there are, who, of necessity and by force, are　

　　　　THE BOOK OF BLOOD　　　　THE MIDNIGHT MEAT TRAIN　　　　THE YATTERING AND JACK　　　　PIG BLOOD AND STARSHINE　　　　IN THE HILLS, THE CITIES　　　　THE BOOK OF BLOOD　　　　　　THE DEAD HAVE highways.　　They run, unerring lines of ghost-trains, of dream-carriages, across the wasteland behind our lives, bearing an endless traffic of departed souls. Their thrum and throb can be heard in the broken places of the world, through cracks made by acts of cruelty, violence and depravity. Their freight, the wandering dead, can be glimpsed when the heart is close to bursting, and sights that should be hidden e plainly into view.　　They have sign-posts, these highways, and bridges and lay-bys. They have turnpikes and interse　

The Sign of the FourThe Sign of the FourBy Sir Arthur Conan Doyle1- Page 2-The Sign of the FourCHAPTER 1 The Science ofDeductionSherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantel- pieceand his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case. With his long,white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle, and rolled back hisleft shirt-cuff. For some little time his eyes rested thoughtfully upon thesinewy forearm and wrist all dotted and scarred with innumerable...　

　1　 With a gentle sigh the service tube dropped a message capsule into the receiving cup. The attention bell chimed once and was silent. Jason dinAlt stared at the harmless capsule as though it were a ticking bomb.　 Something was going wrong. He felt a hard knot of tension form inside of him. This was no routine service memo or hotel munication, but a sealed personal message. Yet he knew no one on this planet, having arrived by spacer less than eight hours earlier. Since even his name was new-dating back to the last time he had changed ships- there could be no personal messages. Yet here one was.　 Stripping the seal with his thumbnail, he took the top off. The recorder in the pencil-sized c　

　　1　　 mander James D. Swanson of the U.S. Navy was short, plump and crowding forty. He had jet-black hair topping a pink, cherubic face, and with the deep permanent creases of laughter lines radiating from his eyes and curving around his mouth, he was a dead ringer for the cheerful, happy-golucky extrovert who is the life and soul of the party where the guests park their brains along with their hats and coats. That, anyway, was how he struck me at first glance, but on the reasonable assumption that I might very likely find some other qualities in the man picked to mand the latest and most powerful nuclear submarine afloat I took a second and closer look at him and this time I saw what I sho　

　Prologue　　 "e home, Tenar! e home!"　 In the deep valley, in the twilight, the apple trees were on the eve of blossoming; here and there among the shadowed boughs one flower had opened early, rose and white, like a faint star. Down the orchard aisles, in the thick, new, wet grass, the little girl ran for the joy of running; hearing the call she did not e at once, but made a long circle before she turned her face towards home. The mother waiting in the doorway of the hut, with the firelight behind her, watched the tiny figure running and bobbing like a bit of thistledown blown over the darkening grass beneath the trees.　 By the corner of the hut, scraping clean an earthclotted hoe, the fathe　

　A January gale was roaring up the Channel, blustering loudly, and bearing in its bosom rain squalls whose big drops rattled loudly on the tarpaulin clothing of those among the officers and men whose duties kept them on deck. So hard and so long had the gale blown that even in the sheltered waters of Spithead the battleship moved uneasily at her anchors, pitching a little in the choppy seas, and snubbing herself against the tautened cables with unexpected jerks. A shore boat was on its way out to her, propelled by oars in the hands of two sturdy women; it danced madly on the steep little waves, now and then putting its nose into one and sending a sheet of spray flying aft. The oarswoman in