The Old Masters: how well they understoodIts human position; how it takes placeWhile someone else is eating or opening a window orMt walking dully along ...W. H. AUDEN, "Musee des Beaux Arts"Old Blue died and he died so hard He shook the ground in my back yard. I dug his grave with a silver spade And I lowered him down with a golden chain. Every link you know I did call his name, I called, "Here, Blue, you good dog, you.FOLK SONG"Nope, nothing wrong here.THE SHARP CEREAL PROFESSORONCE UPON A TIME, not so long ago, a monster came to the small town of Castle Rock, Maine. He killed. a waitress named Alma Frechette in 1970; a woman named Pauline Toothaker and a junior high school student named
Swan Songby Anton CheckovPLAYS BY ANTON TCHEKOFFTRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN, WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY MARIAN FELLCONTENTSIntroductionChronological List of WorksThe Swan SongINTRODUCTIONANTON TCHEKOFFTHE last years of the nineteenth century were for Russia tingedwith doubt and gloom. The high-tide of vitality that had risenduring the Turkish war ebbed in the early eighties, leavingbehind it a dead level of apathy which lasted until life wasagain quickened by the high interests of the Revolution. Duringthese grey years the lonely country and stagnant provincial townsof Russia buried a peasantry which was enslaved by want and toil,...
The Cruise of the Jasper B.by Don MarquisTO ALL THE COPYREADERS ON ALL THE NEWSPAPERS OF AMERICACHAPTER IA BRIGHT BLADE LEAPS FROM A RUSTY SCABBARDOn an evening in April, 191-, Clement J. Cleggett walked sedatelyinto the news room of the New York Enterprise with a drab-coloredwalking-stick in his hand. He stood the cane in a corner,changed his sober street coat for a more sober office jacket,adjusted a green eyeshade below his primly brushed grayish hair,unostentatiously sat down at the copy desk, and unobtrusivelyopened a drawer.From the drawer he took a can of tobacco, a pipe, a pair ofscissors, a paste-pot and brush, a pile of copy paper, a penknife...
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONATHE TWOGENTLEMEN OFVERONAWilliam ShakespeareWilliam ShakespeareWilliam ShakespeareWilliam Shakespeare15951- Page 2-THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONAACT I.2- Page 3-THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONASCENE I. Verona. An open placeEnter VALENTINE and PROTEUSVALENTINE. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus: Home-keeping...
The Soul of the Far Eastby Percival LowellContentsChapter 1. IndividualityChapter 2. FamilyChapter 3. AdoptionChapter 4. LanguageChapter 5. Nature and ArtChapter 6. ArtChapter 7. ReligionChapter 8. ImaginationChapter 1. Individuality.The boyish belief that on the other side of our globe all things are of necessity upside down is startlingly brought back to the man when he first sets foot at Yokohama. If his initial glance does not, to be sure, disclose the natives in the every-day feat of standing calmly on their heads, an attitude which his youthful imagination conceived to be a necessary consequence of their geographical position, it does at least reveal them looking at the world as if
Cleopatraby H. Rider HaggardDEDICATIONMy dear Mother,I have for a long while hoped to be allowed to dedicate some bookof mine to you, and now I bring you this work, because whateverits shortcomings, and whatever judgment may be passed upon it byyourself and others, it is yet the one I should wish you toaccept.I trust that you will receive from my romance of "Cleopatra" somesuch pleasure as lightened the labour of its building up; and thatit may convey to your mind a picture, however imperfect, of theold and mysterious Egypt in whose lost glories you are so deeplyinterested....
Worldly Ways and Bywaysby Eliot GregoryA Table of ContentsTo the READER1. Charm2. The Moth and the Star3. Contrasted Travelling4. The Outer and the Inner Woman5. On Some Gilded Misalliances6. The Complacency of Mediocrity7. The Discontent of Talent8. Slouch9. Social Suggestion10. Bohemia11. Social Exiles12. "Seven Ages" of Furniture13. Our Elite and Public Life14. The Small Summer Hotel15. A False Start16. A Holy Land17. Royalty at Play18. A Rock Ahead19. The Grand Prix20. "The Treadmill"21. "Like Master Like Man"22. An English Invasion of the Riviera23. A Common Weakness...
THE RED ONETHE RED ONEby Jack London1- Page 2-THE RED ONETHE RED ONETHERE it was! The abrupt liberation of sound! As he timed it withhis watch, Bassett likened it to the trump of an archangel. Walls of cities,he meditated, might well fall down before so vast and compelling asummons. For the thousandth time vainly he tried to analyse the tone-quality of that enormous peal that dominated the land far into the strong-...
THE girl walked past the secretary who held the door open, and surveyed the law office with eyes that showed just a trace of panic. The secretary gently closed the door and the girl selected an old fashioned, high-backed, black leather chair. She sat down in it, crossed her legs, pulled her skirt down over her knees, and sat facing the door. After a moment, she pulled the skirt up for an inch or two, taking some pains to get just the effect she wanted. Then she leaned back so that her spun-gold hair showed to advantage against the shiny black leather of the big chair. She looked pathetic and helpless as she sat in the big office, dwarfed by the huge proportions of the leath
Preface To The First Volume.Diligence and accuracy are the only merits which anhistorical writer may ascribe to himself; if any merit, indeed,can be assumed from the performance of an indispensable duty. Imay therefore be allowed to say, that I have carefully examinedall the original materials that could illustrate the subjectwhich I had undertaken to treat. Should I ever complete theextensive design which has been sketched out in the Preface, Imight perhaps conclude it with a critical account of the authorsconsulted during the progress of the whole work; and however suchan attempt might incur the censure of ostentation, I am persuaded...
LOST FACELOST FACEby Jack London1- Page 2-LOST FACELOST FACEIt was the end. Subienkow had travelled a long trail of bitterness andhorror, homing like a dove for the capitals of Europe, and here, fartheraway than ever, in Russian America, the trail ceased. He sat in the snow,arms tied behind him, waiting the torture. He stared curiously before himat a huge Cossack, prone in the snow, moaning in his pain. The men had...
THE DOOR IN THE WALLIOne confidential evening, not three months ago, Lionel Wallace toldme this story of the Door in the Wall. And at the time I thoughtthat so far as he was concerned it was a true story.He told it me with such a direct simplicity of conviction thatI could not do otherwise than believe in him. But in the morning,in my own flat, I woke to a different atmosphere, and as I lay inbed and recalled the things he had told me, stripped of the glamourof his earnest slow voice, denuded of the focussed shaded tablelight, the shadowy atmosphere that wrapped about him and thepleasant bright things, the dessert and glasses and napery of the...