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...　

The Vicar of Toursby Honore de BalzacTranslated by Katharine Prescott WormeleyDEDICATIONTo David, Sculptor:The permanence of the work on which I inscribe your nametwice made illustrious in this centuryis very problematical;whereas you have graven mine in bronze which survives nationsif only in their coins. The day may come when numismatists,discovering amid the ashes of Paris existences perpetuated byyou, will wonder at the number of heads crowned in youratelier and endeavour to find in them new dynasties.To you, this divine privilege; to me, gratitude.De Balzac.THE VICAR OF TOURS...　

Elinor Wyllysby Susan Fenimore CooperIN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. II.EDITED BY J. FENIMORE COOPER.CHAPTER I {would be CHAPTER XXIV, if numbered from beginning of Vol. I}"But there is matter for another rhyme; And I to this would add another tale." WORDSWORTH."And how do Miss and Madam do; The little boy, and all? All tight and well? and how do you, Good Mr. What-do-you-call?" COWPER.{William Wordsworth (English poet, 1770-1850), "Poems of the Imagination: Hart-Leap Well" lines 95-96. William Cowper (English poet, 1731-1800), "The Yearly Distress, or, Tithing Time at Stock in Essex" lines 33-36}It is to be feared the reader will find fault with this chapter. But there is no remedy; he must submit q　

A RECORD OF BUDDHISTIC KINGDOMSA RECORD OFBUDDHISTICKINGDOMSTranslated and annotated with a Corean recension of the ChinesetextBY JAMES LEGGE1- Page 2-A RECORD OF BUDDHISTIC KINGDOMSPREFACESeveral times during my long residence in Hong Kong I endeavouredto read through the "Narrative of Fa-hien;" but though interested with thegraphic details of much of the work, its columns bristled so constantly...　

A Phyllis Of The Sierrasby Bret HarteCHAPTER I.Where the great highway of the Sierras nears the summit, and thepines begin to show sterile reaches of rock and waste in theirdrawn-up files, there are signs of occasional departures from themain road, as if the weary traveller had at times succumbed to thelong ascent, and turned aside for rest and breath again. The tiredeyes of many a dusty passenger on the old overland coach have gazedwistfully on those sylvan openings, and imagined recesses ofprimeval shade and virgin wilderness in their dim perspectives.Had he descended, however, and followed one of these diverging...　

The Daisy Chain, or Aspirationsby Charlotte YongePREFACENo one can be more sensible than is the Author that the present is anovergrown book of a nondescript class, neither the "tale" for theyoung, nor the novel for their elders, but a mixture of both.Begun as a series of conversational sketches, the story outran boththe original intention and the limits of the periodical in which itwas commenced; and, such as it has become, it is here presented tothose who have already made acquaintance with the May family, and maybe willing to see more of them. It would beg to be considered merelyas what it calls itself, a Family Chroniclea domestic record of...　

The Mansionby Henry van DykeThere was an air of calm and reserved opulence aboutthe Weightman mansion that spoke not of money squandered,but of wealth prudently applied. Standing on a corner ofthe Avenue no longer fashionable for residence, it looked uponthe swelling tide of business with an expression of complacencyand half-disdain.The house was not beautiful. There was nothing in its straightfront ofchocolate-colored stone, its heavy cornices, its broad, staringwindows ofplate glass, its carved and bronze-bedecked mahogany doors at thetop of the wide stoop, to charm the eye or fascinate theimagination....　

The Essays of Montaigne, V1by Michel de MontaigneTranslated by Charles CottonEdited by William Carew Hazilitt1877CONTENTS OF VOLUME 1.PrefaceThe Life of MontaigneThe Letters of MontaignePREFACE.The present publication is intended to supply a recognised deficiency inour literaturea library edition of the Essays of Montaigne. This greatFrench writer deserves to be regarded as a classic, not only in the landof his birth, but in all countries and in all literatures. His Essays,which are at once the most celebrated and the most permanent of hisproductions, form a magazine out of which such minds as those of Bacon...　

THE MYSTERIOUS PORTRAITPART INowhere did so many people pause as before the little picture-shop inthe Shtchukinui Dvor. This little shop contained, indeed, the mostvaried collection of curiosities. The pictures were chieflyoil-paintings covered with dark varnish, in frames of dingy yellow.Winter scenes with white trees; very red sunsets, like ragingconflagrations, a Flemish boor, more like a turkey-cock in cuffs thana human being, were the prevailing subjects. To these must be added afew engravings, such as a portrait of Khozreff-Mirza in a sheepskincap, and some generals with three-cornered hats and hooked noses.Moreover, the doors of such shops are usually festooned with bundles...　

Original Short Stories, Vol. 8.By Guy de MaupassantVOLUME VIII.CLOCHETTETHE KISSTHE LEGION OF HONORTHE TESTFOUND ON A DROWNED MANTHE ORPHANTHE BEGGARTHE RABBITHIS AVENGERMY UNCLE JULESTHE MODELA VAGABONDTHE FISHING HOLETHE SPASMIN THE WOODMARTINEALL OVERTHE PARROTA PIECE OF STRINGCLOCHETTEHow strange those old recollections are which haunt us, without our beingable to get rid of them.This one is so very old that I cannot understand how it has clung sovividly and tenaciously to my memory. Since then I have seen so manysinister things, which were either affecting or terrible, that I amastonished at not being able to pass a single day without the face of...　

EPILOGUEMOONSTONE again, in the year 1909. The Metho-dists are giving an ice-cream sociable in the groveabout the new court-house. It is a warm summer night offull moon. The paper lanterns which hang among thetrees are foolish toys, only dimming, in little lurid circles,the great softness of the lunar light that floods the blueheavens and the high plateau. To the east the sand hillsshine white as of old, but the empire of the sand is grad-ually diminishing. The grass grows thicker over the dunesthan it used to, and the streets of the town are harder and...　

Roundabout to Bostonby William Dean HowellsDuring the four years of my life in Venice the literary intention waspresent with me at all times and in all places. I wrote many things inverse, which I sent to the magazines in every part of the English-speaking world, but they came unerringly back to me, except in threeinstances only, when they were kept by the editors who finally printedthem. One of these pieces was published in the Atlantic Monthly; anotherin Harpers Magazine; the third was got into the New York Ledger throughthe kindness of Doctor Edward Everett Hale, who used I know not whatmighty magic to that end. I had not yet met him; but he interested...