The Cavalry Generalby XenophonTranslation by H. G. DakynsXenophon the Athenian was born 431 B.C. He was apupil of Socrates. He marched with the Spartans,and was exiled from Athens. Sparta gave him landand property in Scillus, where he lived for manyyears before having to move once more, to settlein Corinth. He died in 354 B.C.The Cavalry General is a discourse on the meritsa cavalry general, or hipparch, in Athens shouldhave. Xenophon also describes the development ofa cavalry force, and some tactical details to beapplied in the field and in festival exhibition....　

Vanity Fairby William Makepeace ThackerayBEFORE THE CURTAINAs the manager of the Performance sits before the curtainon the boards and looks into the Fair, a feeling of profoundmelancholy comes over him in his survey of the bustling place.There is a great quantity of eating and drinking, making loveand jilting, laughing and the contrary, smoking, cheating,fighting, dancing and fiddling; there are bullies pushing about,bucks ogling the women, knaves picking pockets, policemenon the look-out, quacks (OTHER quacks, plague take them!)bawling in front of their booths, and yokels looking up atthe tinselled dancers and poor old rouged tumblers, while thelight-fingered folk are operating upon their 　

STORIESSTORIESBy English Authors in Germany1- Page 2-STORIESTHE BIRD ON ITS JOURNEYBY BEATRICE HARRADENIt was about four in the afternoon when a young girl came into thesalon of the little hotel at C in Switzerland, and drew her chair up to thefire."You are soaked through," said an elderly lady, who was herself tryingto get roasted. "You ought to lose no time in changing your clothes.""I have not anything to change," said the young girl, laughing. "Oh, I...　

　　　　LUCY LOOKS INTO A WARDROBE　　　　ONCE there were four children whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy. This story is about something that happened to them when they were sent away from London during the war because of the air-raids. They were sent to the house of an old Professor who lived in the heart of the country, ten miles from the nearest railway station and two miles from the nearest post office. He had no wife and he lived in a very large house with a housekeeper called Mrs Macready and three servants. (Their names were Ivy, Margaret and Betty, but they do not e into the story much.) He himself was a very old man with shaggy white hair which grew over most of his face as we　

OLD INDIAN DAYSOLD INDIAN DAYSBY CHARLES A. EASTMAN (Ohiyesa)1- Page 2-OLD INDIAN DAYSTo My Daughters DORA, IRENE, VIRGINIA, ELEANOR, ANDFLORENCE I Dedicate these Stories of the Old Indian Life, andespecially of the Courageous and Womanly Indian Woman2- Page 3-OLD INDIAN DAYSPART ONE THE WARRIORI. THE LOVE OF ANTELOPEUpon a hanging precipice atop of the Eagle Scout Butte there appeared...　

The Ancien Regimeby Charles KingsleyPREFACEThe rules of the Royal Institution forbid (and wisely) religious orpolitical controversy. It was therefore impossible for me in theseLectures, to say much which had to be said, in drawing a just andcomplete picture of the Ancien Regime in France. The passagesinserted between brackets, which bear on religious matters, wereaccordingly not spoken at the Royal Institution.But more. It was impossible for me in these Lectures, to bringforward as fully as I could have wished, the contrast between thecontinental nations and England, whether now, or during theeighteenth century. But that contrast cannot be too carefully...　

　Norman gave his ivory-handled screwdriver a final twist and secured the last screw into the side panel of the slim brass cylinder. Unclamping it from his vice, he lifted it lovingly by its shining axle, and held it towards the dust-smeared glass of the kitchenette window. It was a work of wonder and that was for certain. A mere ten inches in diameter and another one in thickness, the dim light painted a rainbow corona about its varnished circumference.　Norman carried it carefully across to his cluttered kitchen table and, elbowing aside a confusion of soiled crockery, placed it upon the twin bracket mountings which had been bolted through both tablecloth and table. The axle dropped into it　

Letters to His Son, 1766-71by The Earl of ChesterfieldLETTERS TO HIS SONBy the EARL OF CHESTERFIELDon the Fine Art of becoming aMAN OF THE WORLDand aGENTLEMANLETTER CCLXXXIVLONDON, February 11, 1766MY DEAR FRIEND: I received two days ago your letter of the 25th past;and your former, which you mention in it, but ten days ago; this mayeasily be accounted for from the badness of the weather, and consequentlyof the roads. I hardly remember so severe a win ter; it has occasioned...　

JACK LIGHTS OUTCHAPTER 1The Alhambra Inn and Gardens1　　　　On September 15th, 1981, a boy named Jack Sawyer stood where the water and land e together, hands in the pockets of his jeans, looking out at the steady Atlantic. He was twelve years old and tall for his age. The sea-breeze swept back his brown hair, probably too long, from a fine, clear brow. He stood there, filled with the confused and painful emotions he had lived with for the last three months-since the time when his mother had closed their house on Rodeo Drive in Los Angeles and, in a flurry of furniture, checks, and real-estate agents, rented an apartment on Central Park West. From that apartment they had fled to this quiet res　

The Paths of Inland Commerce, A Chronicle of Trail, Road, and WaterwayBy Archer B. HulbertPREFACEIf the great American novel is ever written, I hazard the guess that its plot will be woven around the theme of American transportation, for that has been the vital factor in the national development of the United States. Every problem in the building of the Republic has been, in the last analysis, a problem in transportation. The author of such a novel will find a rich fund of material in the perpetual rivalries of pack-horseman and wagoner, of riverman and canal boatman, of steamboat promoter and railway capitalist. He will find at every point the old jostling and challenging the new pack-hors　

Erewhon (Revised Edition)by Samuel ButlerOR OVER THE RANGEPREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITIONThe Author wishes it to be understood that Erewhon is pronounced asa word of three syllables, all shortthus, E-re-whon.PREFACE TO SECOND EDITIONHaving been enabled by the kindness of the public to get through anunusually large edition of "Erewhon" in a very short time, I havetaken the opportunity of a second edition to make some necessarycorrections, and to add a few passages where it struck me that theywould be appropriately introduced; the passages are few, and it ismy fixed intention never to touch the work again.I may perhaps be allowed to say a word or two here in reference to...　

OWL POSTHarry Potter was a highly unusual boy in many ways. For one thing, he hated the summer holidays more than any other time of year. For another, he really wanted to do his homework but was forced to do it in secret, in the dead of night. And he also happened to be a wizard.It was nearly midnight, and he was lying on his stomach in bed, the blankets drawn right over his head like a tent, a flashlight in one hand and a large leather-bound book (A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot) propped open against the pillow. Harry moved the tip of his eagle-feather quill down the page, frowning as he looked for something that would help him write his essay, "Witch Burning in the Fourteenth Ce