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Category： Author：novel
又名: The Garden of Evil 恶魔花园 "The Lair of the White Worm" is a fantastic, dream-like narrative whose only saving grace is that there's nothing else like it out there. The plot is a maze of myth and pseudo-gothic imagery that, while never the least bit convincing, is somehow irresistible.
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Category： Author：William Makepeace Thackeray威廉·梅克比斯·萨克雷
I. Mr. and Mrs. Fitzroy Timmins live in Lilliput Street, that neat little street which runs at right angles with the Park and Brobdingnag Gardens. It is a very genteel neighborhood, and I need not say they are of a good family.
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Category： Author：novel
Ben Connor is a gambler who knows horses. He goes out west to get away from the gambling life he has been leading in New York. There he discovers a breed of grey horses that he thinks are the best horses he has ever seen.
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Category： Author：novel
When I began, some years ago, to plead the cause of the innumerable hardy flowers against the few tender ones, put out at that time in a formal way, the answer frequently was, “We cannot go back to the mixed border”—that is to say, the old way of arranging flowers in borders.
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Category： Author：novel
The morning sun was growing stronger as it rose higher. Collie, returning from driving his master's cow to the cool shade of the back pasture, felt its rays penetrate his shaggy coat. His tongue hung out as he padded swiftly up the garden path where already the dew was almost dried from the rows of marigolds and sweet William.
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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：Maud Lindsay
Once upon a time, early in the morning when the sun was just climbing over the hills and all the clouds were rosy pink, a little child lay asleep in his pretty white bed.
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Category： Author：Marian Keith
All afternoon the little town had lain dozing under the lullaby of a June rain. It was not so much a rain as a gentle dewy mist, touching the lawns and gardens and the maple trees that lined each street into more vivid green, and laying a thick moist carpet over the dust of the highways.
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Category： Author：Robert Michael Ballantyne
In the midst of the great wilderness—we might almost say the wilds—of that comparatively unknown region which lies on the Surrey side of the Thames, just above London Bridge, there sauntered one fine day a big bronzed seaman of middle age. He turned into an alley, down which, nautically speaking, he rolled into a shab...
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Category： Author：novel
I often stopped for a chat at this point and I was acquainted with most of the men of P. division on whom the duty devolved from time to time. It was a lonely spot at night when the residents in the neighborhood had retired, so that the darkened houses seemed to withdraw yet farther into the gardens separating them from the highroad. A...
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