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Category： Author：Owen Wister
By various influences and agents the Past is summoned before us, more vivid than a dream. The process seems as magical as those whereof we read in fairy legends, where circles are drawn, wands waved, mystic syllables pronounced.
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Category： Author：Tickner Edwardes
Among the beautiful things of the countryside, which are slowly but surely passing away, must be reckoned the old Bee Gardens—fragrant, sunny nooks of blossom, where the bees are housed only in the ancient straw skeps, and have their own way in everything, the work of the bee-keeper being little more than a placid looking-on at events...
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Category： Author：Natalie Sumner Lincoln
THE long hot tropic day was drawing to its close. The shadows were gradually rising and filling the narrow street, and every now and then from the side of the open drain which ran through the middle of the street a large black carrion bird flew up. There was no sidewalk, the cobblestones running right up to the low white house walls. ...
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Category： Author：Les Savage
Crossing Alamo Plaza, Glenn Crawford was almost to the Manger Hotel when he became aware of Sheriff Ed Kenmare standing in the entrance to the patio. Crawford felt the hesitant break to his stride. Then, deliberately, he went on, feeling for the first time the sweat glistening on his unshaven upper lip and forming dark blue spots in th...
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Category： Author：Edward Alden Jewell
Her name was Stella, and she did not like her name. Her hair was quite lustrous, but she did not like her hair, either, and stood combing it jerkily before a glass which possessed in its midst one of those unfortunate waves capable of drawing the face of the beholder into a sad and sometimes startling distortion.
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Category： Author：I. T. Thurston
An algebra recitation was in progress in D section.Reed was on his feet explaining the given problem with his usual quickness and accuracy. Suddenly Mr. Horton interrupted him.“Very well, Reed, take your seat. Crawford, you may continue the explanation.”
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Category： Author：novel
In a poor part of London, but not in the very poorest part—two children sat on a certain autumn evening, side by side on a doorstep. The eldest might have been ten, the youngest eight. The eldest was a girl, the youngest a boy. Drawn up in front of these children, looking into their little faces with hungry, loving, patheti...
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Category： Author：novel
Mickey O’Rooney and Fred Munson were stretched on the Apache blanket, carefully watching the eyes of the wild beast whenever they showed themselves, and had been talking in guarded tones. The Irishman had been silent for several minutes, when the lad asked him a question and received no answer. When the thing was repeated s...
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Category： Author：Robert Michael Ballantyne
One beautiful summer night, about the beginning of the present century, a young naval officer entered the public drawing-room of a hotel at Nice, and glanced round as if in search of some one.
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Category： Author：Robert Michael Ballantyne
Especially may this be said to be the case in a cold, raw night in November, when mankind has a tendency to become chronically cross out of doors, and nature, generally, looks lugubrious; for, just in proportion as the exterior world grows miserably chill, the world “at home,” with its blazing gas, its drawn curtains,...
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