ClocksClocksby Jerome K. Jerome1- Page 2-ClocksThere are two kinds of clocks. There is the clock that is alwayswrong, and that knows it is wrong, and glories in it; and there is the clockthat is always rightexcept when you rely upon it, and then it is morewrong than you would think a clock _could_ be in a civilized country.I remember a clock of this latter type, that we had in the house when I...　

1872FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSENTHE SUNBEAM AND THE CAPTIVEby Hans Christian AndersenIT is autumn. We stand on the ramparts, and look out over the sea.We look at the numerous ships, and at the Swedish coast on theopposite side of the sound, rising far above the surface of the waterswhich mirror the glow of the evening sky. Behind us the wood issharply defined; mighty trees surround us, and the yellow leavesflutter down from the branches. Below, at the foot of the wall, standsa gloomy looking building enclosed in palisades. The space betweenis dark and narrow, but still more dismal m　

Chapter VI of Volume III (Chap. 48)THE whole party were in hopes of a letter from Mr. Bennet the next morning, but the post came in without bringing a single line from him. His family knew him to be, on all common occasions, a most negligent and dilatory correspondent, but at such a time they had hoped for exertion. They were forced to conclude that he had no pleasing intelligence to send, but even of that they would have been glad to be certain. Mr. Gardiner had waited only for the letters before he set off.When he was gone, they were certain at least of receiving constant information of wha　

FEMALE EDUCATION_To Nathaniel Burwell__Monticello, March 14, 1818_DEAR SIR, Your letter of February 17th found me sufferingunder an attack of rheumatism, which has but now left me atsufficient ease to attend to the letters I have received. A plan offemale education has never been a subject of systematic contemplationwith me. It has occupied my attention so far only as the educationof my own daughters occasionally required. Considering that theywould be placed in a country situation, where little aid could be...　

　Douglas Preston dedicates this book to Stuart Woods.　　Acknowledgments　Lincoln Child wishes to thank Bruce Swanson, Bry Benjamin, M.D., Lee Suckno, M.D., Irene Soderlund, Mary Ellen Mix, Bob Wincott, Sergio and Mila Nepomuceno, Jim Cush, Chris Yango, Jim Jenkins, Mark Mendel, Juliette Kvernland, Hartley Clark, and Denis Kelly, for their friendship and their assistance, both technical and otherwise. Thanks also to my wife, Luchie, for her love and unstinting support. And I would especially like to acknowledge as an inspiration my grandmother Nora Kubie. Artist, novelist, archaeologist, indepen　

　BY THE TIME they have finished this book, many readers will be uneasy, frightened, perhaps even horrified. Once entertained, however, they will be tempted to dismiss Night Chills as quickly as they might a novel about demonic possession or reincarnation. Although this story is intended primarily to be a "good read," I cannot stress strongly enough that the basic subject matter is more than merely a fantasy of mine; it is a reality and already a major influence on all our lives.　Subliminal and subaudial advertising, carefully planned manipulation of our subconscious minds, became a serious th　

　　　　THE BOOK OF BLOOD　　　　THE MIDNIGHT MEAT TRAIN　　　　THE YATTERING AND JACK　　　　PIG BLOOD AND STARSHINE　　　　IN THE HILLS, THE CITIES　　　　THE BOOK OF BLOOD　　　　　　THE DEAD HAVE highways.　　They run, unerring lines of ghost-trains, of dream-carriages, across the wasteland behind our lives, bearing an endless traffic of departed souls. Their thrum and throb can be heard in the broken places of the world, through cracks made by acts of cruelty, violence and depravity. Their freight, the wandering dead, can be glimpsed when the heart is close to bursting, and sights that should be hidden e plainly into v　

SHERLOCK HOLMESTHE ADVENTURE OF THE BRUCE-PARTINGTON PLANby Sir Arthur Conan DoyleIn the third week of November, in the year 1895, a dense yellow fogsettled down upon London. From the Monday to the Thursday I doubtwhether it was ever possible from our windows in Baker Street to seethe loom of the opposite houses. The first day Holmes had spent incross-indexing his huge book of references. The second and third hadbeen patiently occupied upon a subject which he had recently madehis hobby- the music of the Middle Ages. But when, for the fourth...　

The Day of the Confederacy, A Chronicle of the Embattled Southby Nathaniel W. StephensonCONTENTSI. THE SECESSION MOVEMENTII. THE DAVIS GOVERNMENTIII. THE FALL OF KING COTTONIV. THE REACTION AGAINST RICHMONDV. THE CRITICAL YEARVI. LIFE IN THE CONFEDERACYVII. THE TURNING OF THE TIDEVIII. A GAME OF CHANCEIX. DESPERATE REMEDIES X. DISINTEGRATIONXI. AN ATTEMPTED REVOLUTIONXII. THE LAST WORDBIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTETHE DAY OF THE CONFEDERACYChapter I. The Secession MovementThe secession movement had three distinct stages. The first,...　

The Moon and SixpenceThe Moon and Sixpenceby W. Somerset MaughamAuthor of "Of Human Bondage"1- Page 2-The Moon and SixpenceChapter II confess that when first I made acquaintance with Charles StricklandI never for a moment discerned that there was in him anything out of theordinary. Yet now few will be found to deny his greatness. I do not...　

A Psychological Counter-Current in Recent Fictionby William Dean HowellsIt is consoling as often as dismaying to find in what seems acataclysmal tide of a certain direction a strong drift to theopposite quarter. It is so divinable, if not so perceptible,that its presence may usually be recognized as a beginning of theturn in every tide which is sure, sooner or later, to come. Inreform, it is the menace of reaction; in reaction, it is thepromise of reform; we may take heart as we must lose heart fromit. A few years ago, when a movement which carried fiction to...　

TWICE-TOLD TALESTHE CELESTIAL RAILROADby Nathaniel HawthorneNOT A GREAT WHILE AGO, passing through the gate of dreams, Ivisited that region of the earth in which lies the famous city ofDestruction. It interested me much to learn that, by the public spiritof some of the inhabitants, a railroad has recently been establishedbetween this populous and flourishing town, and the Celestial City.Having a little time upon my hands, I resolved to gratify a liberalcuriosity to make a trip thither. Accordingly, one fine morning, after...　

BUTTERCUP GOLD AND OTHER STORIESBUTTERCUP GOLDAND OTHER STORIESEllen Robena Field1- Page 2-BUTTERCUP GOLD AND OTHER STORIESThe Little New YearOne cold morning Maurice awoke from his dreams and sat up in bedand listened. He thought he heard a knock at his window; but though themoon was shining brightly, Jack Frost had been so busily at work thatMaurice could not see through the thickly painted panes. So he crept...　

　　　　　　She was sitting there at her glass, at the fashionable going-out hour, trying to decide between a cluster of crystal grapes and a live gardenia as a shoulder decoration, when someone knocked at the suite door, outside across the adjoining reception room.　　Whatever her decision was in the matter, she knew it would have a city-wide effect. It meant that for the next few weeks hundreds of young women would either all be wearing clusters of crystal grapes or live gardenias.　　It was hard to believe that just a couple of brief years ago no one had cared a rap what she stuck on her shoulder. N　

　　The eyes behind the wide black rubber goggles were cold as flint. In the howling speed-turmoil of a BSA M20 doing seventy, they were the only quiet things in the hurtling flesh and metal. Protected by the glass of the goggles, they stared fixedly ahead from just above the centre of the handlebars, and their dark unwavering focus was that of gun muzzles. Below the goggles, the wind had got into the face through the mouth and had wrenched the lips back into a square grin that showed big tombstone teeth and strips of whitish gum. On both sides of the grin the cheeks had been blown out by the w　

　　By P. G. Wodehouse　　1　In a day in June, at the hour when London moves abroad in quest of lunch, a young man stood at the entrance of the Bandolero Restaurant looking earnestly up Shaftesbury Avenuea large young man in excellent condition, with a pleasant, good-humoured, brown, clean-cut face. He paid no attention to the stream of humanity that flowed past him. His mouth was set and his eyes wore a serious, almost a wistful expression. He was frowning slightly. One would have said that here was a man with a secret sorrow.　William FitzWilliam Delamere Chalmers, Lord Dawlish, had no secret sor