CHITRACHITRABY RABINDRANATH TAGOREA PLAY IN ONE ACT1- Page 2-CHITRAPREFACETHIS lyrical drama was written about twenty-five years ago. It isbased on the following story from the Mahabharata.In the course of his wanderings, in fulfilment of a vow of penance,Arjuna came to Manipur. There he saw Chitrangada, the beautiful...　

The Bedford-Row Conspiracyby William Makepeace ThackerayContents.I. Of the loves of Mr. Perkins and Miss Gorgon, and of the twogreat factions in the town of Oldborough.II. Shows how the plot began to thicken in or about Bedford Row.III. Behind the scenes.Footnote:A story of Charles de Bernard furnished the plot of"The Bedford-Row Conspiracy."THE BEDFORD-ROW CONSPIRACYCHAPTER I.OF THE LOVES OF MR. PERKINS AND MISS GORGON, AND OF THE TWO GREAT FACTIONS IN THE TOWN OF OLDBOROUGH. "My dear John," cried Lucy, with a very wise look indeed, "it must and shall be so. As for Doughty Street, with 　

Songs of Travel and Other Versesby Robert Louis StevensonCONTENTSI. THE VAGABOND - Give to me the life I loveII. YOUTH AND LOVE: I. - Once only by the garden gateIII. YOUTH AND LOVE: II. - To the heart of youth the world isa highwaysideIV. In dreams, unhappy, I behold you standV. She rested by the Broken BrookVI. The infinite shining heavensVII. Plain as the glistering planets shineVIII. To you, let snows and rosesIX. Let Beauty awake in the morn from beautiful dreams...　

The Club of Queer Tradesby G.K.ChestertonChapter 1The Tremendous Adventures of Major BrownRabelais, or his wild illustrator Gustave Dore, must have had something to do with the designing of the things called flats in England and America. There is something entirely Gargantuan in the idea of economising space by piling houses on top of each other, front doors and all. And in the chaos and complexity of those perpendicular streets anything may dwell or happen, and it is in one of them, I believe, that the inquirer may find the offices of the Club of Queer Trades. It may be thought at the first 　

MOTHERMOTHERBy OWEN WISTERTO MY FAVOURITE BROKER WITH THE EARNESTASSURANCE THAT MR. BEVERLY IS NOT MEANT FOR HIM1- Page 2-MOTHERWhen handsome young Richard Fieldhe was very handsome andvery young announced to our assembled company that if his turn shouldreally come to tell us a story, the story should be no invention of his fancy,...　

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSENTHE BUCKWHEATby Hans Christian AndersenVERY often, after a violent thunder-storm, a field of buckwheatappears blackened and singed, as if a flame of fire had passed overit. The country people say that this appearance is caused bylightning; but I will tell you what the sparrow says, and thesparrow heard it from an old willow-tree which grew near a field ofbuckwheat, and is there still. It is a large venerable tree, thougha little crippled by age. The trunk has been split, and out of the...　

White Liesby Charles ReadeCHAPTER I.Towards the close of the last century the Baron de Beaurepaire lived in the chateau of that name in Brittany. His family was of prodigious antiquity; seven successive barons had already flourished on this spot when a younger son of the house accompanied his neighbor the Duke of Normandy in his descent on England, and was rewarded by a grant of English land, on which he dug a mote and built a chateau, and called it Beaurepaire (the worthy Saxons turned this into Borreper without delay). Since that day more than twenty gentlemen of the same lineage had held　

CHAPTER XIWho Stole the Tarts?The King and Queen of Hearts were seated on their throne whenthey arrived, with a great crowd assembled about themall sortsof little birds and beasts, as well as the whole pack of cards:the Knave was standing before them, in chains, with a soldier oneach side to guard him; and near the King was the White Rabbit,with a trumpet in one hand, and a scroll of parchment in theother. In the very middle of the court was a table, with a largedish of tarts upon it: they looked so good, that it made Alice...　

Many a blond, northern moonrise,like a muted reflection, will softlyremind me and remind me again and again.It will be my bride, my alter ego.An incentive to find myself. I myselfam the moonrise of the south.　　-Paul Klee, The Tunisian Diaries　　Prologue　　It was just past midday, not long before the third summons to prayer, that Ammar ibn Khairan passed through the Gate of the Bells and entered the palace of Al-Fontina in Silvenes to kill the last of the khalifs of Al-Rassan.　　Passing into the Court of Lions he came to the three sets of double doors and paused before those that led to the garde　

　　Even before the events in the supermarket, Jim Ironheart should have known trouble was ing. During the night he dreamed of being pursued across a field by a flock of large blackbirds that shrieked around him in a turbulent flapping of wings and tore at him with hooked beaks as precisely honed as surgical scalpels. When he woke and was unable to breathe, he shuffled onto the balcony in his pajama bottoms to get some fresh air.　At nine-thirty in the morning, the temperature, already ninety degrees, only contributed to the sense of suffocation with which he had awakened.　A long shower and a sh