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The Genius

Author: Theodore Dreiser

Published: 1915

This story has its beginnings in the town of Alexandria, Illinois, between 1884 and 1889, at the time when the place had a population of somewhere near ten thousand. There was about it just enough of the air of a city to relieve it of the sense of rural life. It had one street-car line, a theatre,--or rather, an opera house, so-called (why no one might say, for no opera was ever performed there)--two railroads, with their stations, and a business district, composed of four brisk sides to a public square. In the square were the county court-house and four newspapers. These two morning and two evening papers made the population fairly aware of the fact that life was full of issues, local and national, and that there were many interesting and varied things to do.

Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

Author: Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens)

Published: 1884 

YOU don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain't no matter. That book was made by Mr. Mark Twain, and he told the truth, mainly. There was things which he stretched, but mainly he told the truth. That is nothing. I never seen anybody but lied one time or another, without it was Aunt Polly, or the widow, or maybe Mary. Aunt Polly--Tom's Aunt Polly, she is--and Mary, and the Widow Douglas is all told about in that book, which is mostly a true book, with some stretchers, as I said before. Now the way that the book winds up is this: Tom and me found the money that the robbers hid in the cave, and it made us rich. We got six thousand dollars apiece--all gold. It was an awful sight of

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

Author: Arthur Conan Holmes

Published: 1892

I had seen little of Holmes lately. My marriage had drifted us away from each other. My own complete happiness, and the home-centred interests which rise up around the man who first finds himself master of his own establishment, were sufficient to absorb all my attention, while Holmes, who loathed every form of society with his whole Bohemian soul, remained in our lodgings in Baker Street, buried among his old books, and alternating from week to week between cocaine and ambition, the drowsiness of the drug, and the fierce energy of his own keen nature. He was still, as ever, deeply attracted by the study of crime, and occupied his immense faculties and extraordinary powers of observation in

The Age of Reason

Writings of Thomas Paine — Volume 4 (1794-1796)

Author: Thomas Paine

Published: 1796

IN the opening year, 1793, when revolutionary France had beheaded its king, the wrath turned next upon the King of kings, by whose grace every tyrant claimed to reign. But eventualities had brought among them a great English and American heart -- Thomas Paine. He had pleaded for Louis Caper -- "Kill the king but spare the man." Now he pleaded, -- "Disbelieve in the King of kings, but do not confuse with that idol the Father of Mankind!" In Paine's Preface to the Second Part of "The Age of Reason" he describes himself as writing the First Part near the close of the year 1793. "I had not finished it more than six hours, in the state it has since appeared, before a guard came about three in the morning, with an order signed by the two Committees of Public Safety and Surety General, for putting me in arrestation." This was on the morning of December 28. But it is necessary to weigh the words just quoted -- "in the state it has since appeared." For on August 5, 1794, Francois Lanthenas, in an appeal for Paine's liberation, wrote as follows: "I deliver to Merlin de Thionville a copy of the last work of T. Payne [The Age of Reason], formerly our colleague, and in custody since the

The Arabian Nights

Author: Andrew Lang

Published: 1898

The stories in the Fairy Books have generally been such as old women in country places tell to their grandchildren. Nobody knows how old they are, or who told them first. The children of Ham, Shem and Japhet may have listened to them in the Ark, on wet days. Hector's little boy may have heard them in Troy Town, for it is certain that Homer knew them, and that some of them were written down in Egypt about the time of Moses.

People in different countries tell them differently, but they are always the same stories, really, whether among little Zulus, at the Cape, or little Eskimo, near the North Pole. The changes are only in matters of manners and customs; such as wearing clothes or not, meeting lions who talk in the warm countries, or talking bears in the cold countries. There are plenty of kings and queens in the fairy tales, just because long ago there were plenty of kings in the country. A gentleman who would be a squire now was a kind of king in Scotland in very old times, and the same in other places. These old stories, never forgotten, were taken down in writing in different ages, but mostly in this century, in all sorts of languages.

Black Beauty

The Autobiography of a Horse

Author:  Anna Sewell

Published: 1877

"Oh! I don't know what hare; likely enough it may be one of our own hares out of the woods; any hare they can find will do for the dogs and men to run after;" and before long the dogs began their "yo! yo, o, o!" again, and back they came altogether at full speed, making straight for our meadow at the part where the high bank and hedge overhang the brook. "Now we shall see the hare," said my mother; and just then a hare wild with fright rushed by and made for the woods. On came the dogs; they burst over the bank, leaped the stream, and came dashing across the field followed by the huntsmen. Six or eight men leaped their horses clean over, close upon the dogs. The hare tried to get through the fence; it was too thick, and she turned sharp round to make for the road, but it was too late; the dogs were upon her with their wild cries; we heard one shriek, and that was the end of her. One of the huntsmen rode up and whipped off the dogs, who would soon have torn her to pieces. He held her up by the leg torn and bleeding, and all the gentlemen seemed well pleased. As for me, I was so astonished that I did not at first see what was going on by the brook; but

The Call of the Wild

Author: Jack London

Published: 1903

but for every tide- water dog, strong of muscle and with warm, long hair, from Puget Sound to San Diego. Because men, groping in the Arctic darkness, had found a yellow metal, and because steamship and transportation companies were booming the find, thousands of men were rushing into the Northland. These men wanted dogs, and the dogs they wanted were heavy dogs, with strong muscles by which to toil, and furry coats to protect them from the frost. Buck lived at a big house in the sun-kissed Santa Clara Valley. Judge Miller's place, it was called. It stood back from the road, half hidden among the trees, through which glimpses could be caught of the wide cool veranda that ran around its four sides. The house was approached by gravelled driveways which wound about through wide-spreading lawns and under the interlacing boughs of tall poplars. At the rear things were on even a more spacious scale than at the front. There were great stables, where a dozen grooms and boys held forth, rows of vine-clad servants'  cottages, an endless and orderly array of outhouses, long grape arbors, green pastures, orchards, and berry patches.

Frankenstein

Author:  Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

Published: 1818

I am already far north of London, and as I walk in the streets of Petersburgh, I feel a cold northern breeze play upon my cheeks, which braces my nerves and fills me with delight. Do you understand this feeling? This breeze, which has travelled from the regions towards which I am advancing, gives me a foretaste of those icy climes. Inspirited by this wind of promise, my daydreams become more fervent and vivid. I try in vain to be persuaded that the pole is the seat of frost and desolation; it ever presents itself to my imagination as the region of beauty and delight. There, Margaret, the sun is forever visible, its broad disk just skirting the horizon and diffusing a perpetual splendour. There--for with your leave, my sister, I will put some trust in preceding navigators--there snow and frost are banished; and, sailing over a calm sea, we may be wafted to a land surpassing in wonders and in beauty every region hitherto discovered on the habitable globe. Its productions and features may be without example, as the phenomena of the heavenly bodies undoubtedly are in those undiscovered solitudes. What may not be expected in a country of eternal light? I may there discover the wondrous power

An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations

Author: Adam Smih

Published: 1776

The annual labour of every nation is the fund which originally supplies it with all the necessaries and conveniencies of life which it annually consumes, and which consist always either in the immediate produce of that labour, or in what is purchased with that produce from other nations. According, therefore, as this produce, or what is purchased with it, bears a greater or smaller proportion to the number of those who are to consume it, the nation will be better or worse supplied with all the necessaries and conveniencies for which it has occasion. But this proportion must in every nation be regulated by two different circumstances: first, by the skill, dexterity, and judgment with which its labour is generally applied; and, secondly, by the proportion between the number of those who are employed in useful labour, and that of those who are not so employed. Whatever be the soil, climate, or extent of territory of any particular nation, the abundance or scantiness of its annual supply must, in that particular situation, depend upon those two circumstances. The abundance or scantiness of this supply, too, seems to depend more upon the former of those two circumstances than upon the latter.

The Kingdom of God Is Within You

Author: Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy

Published: 1894

The book I have had the privilege of translating is, undoubtedly, one of the most remarkable studies of the social and psychological condition of the modern world which has appeared in Europe for many years, and its influence is sure to be lasting and far reaching. Tolstoi's genius is beyond dispute. The verdict of the civilized world has pronounced him as perhaps the greatest novelist of our generation. But the philosophical and religious works of his later years have met with a somewhat indifferent reception. They have been much talked about, simply because they were his work, but, as Tolstoi himself complains, they have never been seriously discussed. I hardly think that he will have to repeat the complaint in regard to the present volume. One may disagree with his views, but no one can seriously deny the originality, boldness, and depth of the social conception which he develops with such powerful logic. The novelist has shown in this book the religious fervor and spiritual insight of the prophet; yet one is pleased to recognize that the artist is not wholly lost in the thinker. The subtle intuitive perception of the psychological basis of the social position, the analysis of the frame of mind of oppressors and oppressed, and of the intoxication of Authority and Servility, as well as the purely descriptive passages in the last chapter--these could only have come from the author of "War and Peace."

Men in War

Author: Andreas Latzko

Published: 1918

The time was late in the autumn of the second year of the war; the place, the garden of a war hospital in a small Austrian town, which lay at the base of wooded hills, sequestered as behind a Spanish wall, and still preserving its sleepy contented outlook upon existence. Day and night the locomotives whistled by. Some of them hauled to the front trains of soldiers singing and hallooing, high-piled bales of hay, bellowing cattle and ammunition in tightly-closed, sinister-looking cars. The others, in the opposite direction, came creeping homeward slowly, marked by the bleeding cross that the war has thrown upon all walls and the people behind them. But the great madness raced through the town like a hurricane, without disturbing its calm, as though the low, brightly colored houses with the old-fashioned ornate façades had tacitly come to the sensible agreement to ignore with aristocratic reserve this arrogant, blustering fellow, War, who turned everything topsy-turvy. In the parks the children played unmolested with the large russet leaves of the old chestnut trees. Women stood gossiping in front of the shops, and somewhere in every street a girl with a bright kerchief on her head could be seen washing windows. In spite of the hospital flags waving from almost every house, in spite of innumerable bulletin boards, notices and sign-posts that the intruder had thrust upon the defenseless town, peace still seemed to prevail here, scarcely fifty miles away from the

Reginald Cruden (A Tale of City Life)

Author: Talbot Baines Reed

Published: 1900

It was a desperately hot day. There had been no day like it all the summer. Indeed, Squires, the head gardener at Garden Vale, positively asserted that there had been none like it since he had been employed on the place, which was fourteen years last March. Squires, by the way, never lost an opportunity of reminding himself and the world generally of the length of his services to the family at Garden Vale; and on the strength of those fourteen years he gave himself airs as if the place belonged not to Mr Cruden at all, but to himself. He was the terror of his mistress, who scarcely dared to peep into a greenhouse without his leave, and although he could never exactly obtain from the two young gentlemen the respect to which he considered himself entitled, he still flattered himself in secret "they couldn't do exactly what they liked with his garden!" To-day, however, it was so hot that even Squires, after having expressed the opinion on the weather above mentioned, withdrew himself into the coolest recess of his snug lodge and slept sweetly, leaving the young gentlemen, had they been so minded, to take any liberty they liked with "his" garden.

The young gentlemen, however, were not so minded. They had been doing their best to play lawn tennis in the blazing sun with two of their friends, but it was too hot to run, too hot to hit, and far too hot to score, so the attempt had died away, and three

The Rights of Man (Volume 2)

Author: Thomas Paine

Published: 1779

WHEN Thomas Paine sailed from America for France, in April, 1787, he was perhaps as happy a man as anyin the world. His most intimate friend, Jefferson, was Minister at Paris, and his friend Lafayette was the idolof France. His fame had preceded him, and he at once became, in Paris, the centre of the same circle ofsavants and philosophers that had surrounded Franklin. His main reason for proceeding at once to Paris wasthat he might submit to the Academy of Sciences his invention of an iron bridge, and with its favorableverdict he came to England, in September. He at once went to his aged mother at Thetford, leaving with apublisher (Ridgway), his " Prospects on the Rubicon." He next made arrangements to patent his bridge, and toconstruct at Rotherham the large model of it exhibited on Paddington Green, London. He was welcomed inEngland by leading statesmen, such as Lansdowne and Fox, and above all by Edmund Burke, who for sometime had him as a guest at Beaconsfield, and drove him about in various parts of the country. He had not theslightest revolutionary purpose, either as regarded England or France. Towards Louis XVI. he felt onlygratitude for the services he had rendered America, and towards George III. he felt no animosity whatever.His four months' sojourn in Paris had convinced him that there was approaching a reform of that country afterthe American model, except that the Crown would be preserved, a compromise he approved, provided thethrone should not be hereditary. Events in France travelled more swiftly than he had anticipated, and

Ten Days That Shook the World

Author: John Reed

Published: 1919

THIS book is a slice of intensified history—history as I saw it. It does not pretend to be anything but adetailed account of the November Revolution, when the Bolsheviki, at the head of the workers and soldiers,seized the state power of Russia and placed it in the hands of the Soviets.Naturally most of it deals with “Red Petrograd,” the capital and heart of the insurrection. But the reader mustrealize that what took place in Petrograd was almost exactly duplicated, with greater or lesser intensity, atdifferent intervals of time, all over Russia.In this book, the first of several which I am writing, I must confine myself to a chronicle of those eventswhich I myself observed and experienced, and those supported by reliable evidence; preceded by two chaptersbriefly outlining the background and causes of the November Revolution. I am aware that these two chaptersmake difficult reading, but they are essential to an understanding of what follows.Many questions will suggest themselves to the mind of the reader. What is Bolshevism? What kind of agovernmental structure did the Bolsheviki set up? If the Bolsheviki championed the Constituent Assemblybefore the November Revolution, why did they disperse it by force of arms afterward? And if the bourgeoisieopposed the Constituent Assembly until

Simon Called Peter

Author: Robert Keable

Published: 1921

The glamour of no other evil thing is stronger than the glamour of war. It would seem as if the cup of the world's sorrow as a result of war had been filled to the brim again and again, but still a new generation has always been found to forget. A new generation has always been found to talk of the heroisms that the divine in us can manifest in the mouth of hell and to forget that so great a miracle does not justify our creation of the circumstance. Yet if ever war came near to its final condemnation it was in 1914-1918. Our comrades died bravely, and we had been willing to die, to put an end to it once and for all. Indeed war-weary men heard the noise of conflict die away on November 11, 1918, thinking that that end had been attained. It is not yet three years ago; a little time, but long enough for betrayal. Long enough, too, for the making of many books about it all, wherein has been recorded such heroisms as might make God proud and such horror as might make the Devil weep. Yet has the truth been told, after all? Has the world realized that in a modern war a nation but moves in uniform to perform its ordinary tasks in a new intoxicating atmosphere? Now and again a small percentage of the whole is flung into the pit, and, for them, where one in ten was heavy slaughter, now one in ten is reasonable escape. The rest, for the greater part ...

Silas Marner (The Weaver of Raveloe)

Author:  George Elliot (Mary Anne Evans)

Published: 1861

In the days when the spinning-wheels hummed busily in the farmhouses-- and even great ladies, clothed insilk and thread-lace, had their toy spinning-wheels of polished oak--there might be seen in districts far awayamong the lanes, or deep in the bosom of the hills, certain pallid undersized men, who, by the side of thebrawny country-folk, looked like the remnants of a disinherited race. The shepherd's dog barked fiercely whenone of these alien-looking men appeared on the upland, dark against the early winter sunset; for what doglikes a figure bent under a heavy bag?--and these pale men rarely stirred abroad without that mysteriousburden. The shepherd himself, though he had good reason to believe that the bag held nothing but flaxenthread, or else the long rolls of strong linen spun from that thread, was not quite sure that this trade ofweaving, indispensable though it was, could be carried on entirely without the help of the Evil One. In thatfar-off time superstition clung easily round every person or thing that was at all unwonted, or evenintermittent and occasional merely, like the visits of the pedlar or the knife-grinder. No one knew wherewandering men had their homes or their origin; and how was a man to be explained unless you at least knewsomebody who knew his father and mother? To the peasants of old times, the world outside their own directexperience was a region of vagueness and mystery: to their untravelled thought a state of wandering was aconception as dim as the winter life of the ..

Ruth

Author: Elizabeth Gaskell

Published: 1853

There is an assize-town in one of the eastern counties which was much distinguished by the Tudor Sovereigns, and, in consequence of their favour and protection, attained a degree of importance that surprises the modern traveller. A hundred years ago its appearance was that of picturesque grandeur. The old houses, which were the temporary residences of such of the county families as contented themselves with the gaieties of a provincial town, crowded the streets, and gave them the irregular but noble appearance yet to be seen in the cities of

Belgium. The sides of the streets had a quaint richness, from the effect of the gables, and the stacks of chimneys which cut against the blue sky above; while, if the eye fell lower down, the attention was arrested by all kinds of projections in the shape of balcony and oriel; and it was amusing to see the infinite variety of windows that had been crammed into the walls long before Mr. Pitt's days of taxation. The streets below suffered from all these projections and advanced stories above; they were dark, and ill-paved with large, round, jolting pebbles, and with no side-path protected by kerb-stones; there were no lamp-posts for long winter nights; and no regard was paid to the wants of the middle class, who neither drove about in coaches of their own, nor were carried by their own men in their own sedans into the very halls of their friends. The professional men and their wives, the shopkeepers and their spouses, and all such people, walked about at considerable ..