Leopold Classic Library is delighted to publish this classic book as part of our extensive collection. As part of our on-going commitment to delivering value to the reader, we have also provided you with a link to a website, where you may download a digital version of this work for free. Many of the books in our collection have been out of print for decades, and therefore have not been accessible to the general public. Whilst the books in this collection have not been hand curated, an aim of our publishing program is to facilitate rapid access to this vast reservoir of literature. As a result of this book being first published many decades ago, it may have occasional imperfections. These imperfections may include poor picture quality, blurred or missing text. While some of these imperfections may have appeared in the original work, others may have resulted from the scanning process that has been applied. However, our view is that this is a significant literary work, which deserves to be brought back into print after many decades. While some publishers have applied optical character recognition (OCR), this approach has its own drawbacks, which include formatting errors, misspelt words, or the presence of inappropriate characters. Our philosophy has been guided by a desire to provide the reader with an experience that is as close as possible to ownership of the original work. We hope that you will enjoy this wonderful classic book, and that the occasional imperfection that it might contain will not detract from the experience. Views: 385
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Joseph Thomas Sheridan Le Fanu was born on August 28th, 1814, at 45 Lower Dominick Street, Dublin, into a literary family with Huguenot, Irish and English roots. The children were tutored but, according to his brother William, the tutor taught them little if anything. Le Fanu was eager to learn and used his father\'s library to educate himself about the world. He was a creative child and by fifteen had taken to writing poetry. Accepted into Trinity College, Dublin to study law he also benefited from the system used in Ireland that he did not have to live in Dublin to attend lectures, but could study at home and take examinations at the university as and when necessary. This enabled him to also write and by 1838 Le Fanu\'s first story The Ghost and the Bonesetter was published in the Dublin University Magazine. Many of the short stories he wrote at the time were to form the basis for his future novels. Indeed, throughout his career Le Fanu would constantly revise, cannabilise, embellish and re-publish his earlier works to use in his later efforts. Between 1838 and 1840 Le Fanu had written and published twelve stories which purported to be the literary remains of an 18th-century Catholic priest called Father Purcell. Set mostly in Ireland they include classic stories of gothic horror, with grim, shadowed castles, as well as supernatural visitations from beyond the grave, together with madness and suicide. One of the themes running through them is a sad nostalgia for the dispossessed Catholic aristocracy of Ireland, whose ruined castles stand in mute salute and testament to this history. On 18 December 1844 Le Fanu married Susanna Bennett, the daughter of a leading Dublin barrister. The union would produce four children. Le Fanu was now stretching his talents across the length of a novel and his first was The Cock and Anchor published in 1845. A succession of works followed and his reputation grew as well as his income. Unfortunately, a decade after his marriage it became an increasing source of difficultly. Susanna was prone to suffer from a range of neurotic symptoms including great anxiety after the deaths of several close relatives, including her father two years before. In April 1858 she suffered an "hysterical attack" and died in circumstances that are still unclear. The anguish, profound guilt as well as overwhelming loss were channeled into Le Fanu’s work. Working only by the light of two candles he would write through the night and burnish his reputation as a major figure of 19th Century supernaturalism. His work challenged the focus on the external source of horror and instead he wrote about it from the perspective of the inward psychological potential to strike fear in the hearts of men. A series of books now came forth: Wylder\'s Hand (1864), Guy Deverell (1865), The Tenants of Malory (1867), The Green Tea (1869), The Haunted Baronet (1870), Mr. Justice Harbottle (1872), The Room in the Dragon Volant (1872) and In a Glass Darkly. (1872). But his life was drawing to a close. Joseph Thomas Sheridan Le Fanu died in Merrion Square in his native Dublin on February 7th, 1873, at the age of 58. Views: 382
This work has been selected by scholars as being culturally important, and is part of the knowledge base of civilization as we know it. This work was reproduced from the original artifact, and remains as true to the original work as possible. Therefore, you will see the original copyright references, library stamps (as most of these works have been housed in our most important libraries around the world), and other notations in the work.This work is in the public domain in the United States of America, and possibly other nations. Within the United States, you may freely copy and distribute this work, as no entity (individual or corporate) has a copyright on the body of the work.As a reproduction of a historical artifact, this work may contain missing or blurred pages, poor pictures, errant marks, etc. Scholars believe, and we concur, that this work is important enough to be preserved, reproduced, and made generally available to the public. We appreciate your support of the preservation process, and thank you for being an important part of keeping this knowledge alive and relevant. Views: 379
THE hotel carriage rolled away from Mr. Bradford\'s door with papa and mamma, the two nurses and four little children inside, and such a lot of trunks and baskets on the top; all on their way to Quam Beach. Harry and Fred, the two elder boys, were to stay with grandmamma until their school was over; and then they also were to go to the sea-side.The great coach carried them across the ferry, and then they all jumped out and took their seats in the cars. It was a long, long ride, and after they left the cars there were still three or four miles to go in the stage, so that it was quite dark night when they reached Mrs. Jones\'s house. Poor little sick Bessie was tired out, and even Maggie, who had enjoyed the journey very much, thought that she should be glad to go to bed as soon as she had had her supper. It was so dark that the children could not see the ocean, of which they had talked and thought so much; but they could hear the sound of the waves as they rolled up on the beach. There was a large hotel at Quam, but Mrs. Bradford did not choose to go there with her little children; and so she had hired all the rooms that Mrs. Jones could spare in her house. The rooms were neat and clean, but very plain, and not very large, and so different from those at home that Maggie thought she should not like them at all. In that which was to be the nursery was a large, four-post bedstead in which nurse and Franky were to sleep; and beside it stood an old-fashioned trundle-bed, which was for Maggie and Bessie. Bessie was only too glad to be put into it at once, but Maggie looked at it with great displeasure. "I sha\'n\'t sleep in that nasty bed," she said. "Bessie, don\'t do it.""Indeed," said nurse, "it\'s a very nice bed; and if you are going to be a naughty child, better than you deserve. That\'s a great way you have of calling every thing that don\'t just suit you, \'nasty.\' I\'d like to know where you mean to sleep, if you don\'t sleep there.""I\'m going to ask mamma to make Mrs. Jones give us a better one," said Maggie; and away she ran to the other room where mamma was undressing the baby. "Mamma," she said, "won\'t you make Mrs. Jones give us a better bed? That\'s just a kind of make-believe bed that nurse pulled out of the big one, and I know I can\'t sleep a wink in it.""I do not believe that Mrs. Jones has another one to give us, dear," said her mother. "I know it is not so pretty as your little bed at home, but I think you will find it very comfortable. When I was a little girl, I always slept in a trundle-bed, and I never rested better. If you do not sleep a wink, we will see what Mrs. Jones can do for us to-morrow; but for to-night I think you must be contented with that bed; and if my little girl is as tired as her mother, she will be glad to lie down anywhere." Views: 375
In this collection of essays and speeches written over the course of four decades, beloved storyteller Natalie Babbitt explores what it was like to be a "little dog" in the literary world, continually being forced to justify her choice to write books for children—instead of doing something more serious. Babbitt offers incisive commentary on classic children's books as well as contemporary works, and reveals colorful insights into her own personal creative life. Filled with a voice that rings with truth, wisdom, and humor across the years, the essays gathered in Barking with the Big Dogs exemplify on every page true reverence for children and an endless engagement with the challenge to write the books that shape them. Views: 374
The Corner SeriesTHE FOUR CORNERS ABROAD By AMY E. BLANCHARDCONTENTSThe Fourth in ParisThe Day of BastilleHousekeepingA Glimpse of SpainA FiestaSpanish HospitalityAcross the ChannelIn London TownWorkA Night AdventureSettling DownAll SaintsThe Fairy Play and Its Consequences"Stille Nacht"In the MountainsHerr Green-CapGood-bye MunichJack as ChampionA Youthful GuideToward the ToeILLUSTRATIONSJean with a pigeon on each shoulder was perfectly happyNan volunteered to go for suppliesMary Lee was snapping her fingers and taking her stepsJo managed to get next to the driverThe children stood in awe and delight at the KrippenCHAPTER I. THE FOURTH IN PARISIt was at Passy that a little party of American girls were discussing the afternoon\'s plans one day in July. The three older girls were most interested; the two younger were too much engrossed in a game of Diabolo to notice very much what the others were talking about."You see it\'s raining," said Nan Corner, a tall girl with dark hair, "so we can\'t go in the Bois as we intended.""Neither do we want to follow Aunt Helen\'s example and go hunting for antiques," put in Nan\'s sister, Mary Lee. "What do you say we do, Jo?"Jo Keyes was drumming on the window-pane and looking out at the rather unpromising weather. "I see an American flag, girls," she said. "Hail to you, Old Glory!—Goodness me!" She turned around. "Do you all know what day it is? Of course we must do something patriotic.""It\'s the Fourth of July!" exclaimed Nan, "and we never thought of it. For pity\'s sake! Isn\'t it ridiculous? We never made very much of it at home, but over here I feel so American when I remember Bunker Hill and Yorktown and our own Virginia Washington, that I could paint myself red, white and blue, and cry \'Give me liberty or give me death,\' from out the front window.""I beg you\'ll do no such thing," said Mary Lee, the literal.Nan laughed. The twins stopped their play and began to take an interest in what was being said. "Do paint your face red, white and blue and lean out the front window, Nan," said Jack; "it would be so funny.""Let Mary Lee do it," said Nan, putting her arm around her little sister; "she\'s already red, white and blue.""Let me see, Mary Lee, let me see," said Jack, eagerly.The others laughed. "Blue eyes, white nose, red lips," said Nan, touching with her finger these features of Mary Lee\'s."You fooled me," said Jack disgustedly. "I thought she might have lovely stripes or something on her face.""Foolish child," returned Nan, giving her a squeeze. "We must do something, girls, and look \'how it do rain,\' as Mitty would say.""Can\'t we have torpedoes or firecrackers or some kind of fireworks?" asked Jean."The gendarmes might come and rush us all off to the police court if we did," Jo told her. "They\'re so terribly particular here in Paris, that if a cab or an auto runs over you, you have to pay damages for getting in the way.""Thank heaven we\'re Americans," said Nan fervently. "I am more eager than ever to flaunt my colors. Of all unjust things I ever heard it is to run you down and make you pay for it. They needn\'t talk to me about their liberté, fraternité, and egalité. I\'ll give a centime to the first one who thinks a happy thought for celebrating, myself included."Jo was the first with a suggestion. "Let\'s have a tea and invite the grown-ups, your mother and Miss Helen. We might ask that nice Miss Joyce, too. We can have red, white and blue decorations and dress ourselves in the national colors, and it will be fine." Views: 373
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Bob, Son of Battle, is a sheepdog so canny and careful of his flock, so deeply devoted to his master, James Moore, and so admired for his poise and wisdom by the residents of a small village in the rugged mountains of England’s North Country, that young though he is, he is already known as Owd Bob. In a recent contest, Bob has proved himself a matchless sheepdog, and if he wins the trophy two more times, he’ll be seen as equal to the legendary sheepdogs of yore. But Bob has a real rival: Red Wull, with his docked tail and bristling yellow fur, a ferocious creature, just like his diminutive master, Adam McAdam, a lonely Scot, estranged not only from his English neighbors but from his son, David. McAdam just can’t stop belittling this strapping young man, all the more so since David began courting Moore’s beautiful daughter Maggie. But what McAdam really wants is for his beloved Wullie to wrest the prize from Bob once and for all. The story takes a darker turn when a troubling new threat to the local flocks emerges. A dog has gone rogue, sneaking out at night to feast on the flesh and blood of the sheep he is bound to protect. Again and again, new sheep fall prey to this relentless predator; again and again, he slips away undetected. This master hunter can only be among the boldest and sharpest of dogs . . . Bob, Son of Battle has long been a beloved classic of children’s literature both in America and in England. Here the celebrated author and translator Lydia Davis, who first read and loved this exciting story as a child, has rendered the challenging idioms of the original into fluent and graceful English of our day, making this tale of rival dogs and rival families and the shadowy terrain between Good and Bad accessible and appealing to readers of all ages. Views: 372
"If Lily Norris isn\'t just the most provoking child that ever lived!" said Maggie Bradford, indignantly."Yes, I b\'lieve she just is," assented Bessie."Why," said Mrs. Rush, who was that day making a visit to Maggie\'s and Bessie\'s mamma, "how is this? Lily the most provoking child that ever lived! I thought Lily was one of your best friends, and that you were so fond of her.""Yes, Aunt May, so we are," said Maggie. "We\'re very fond of Lily indeed; she\'s one of[10] our dearly beloveds, and we like to have her with us; but for all that, she\'s very trying to our patience.""Yes," sighed Bessie, "I think she\'s tryinger than any child we know; and yet she\'s hardly ever naughty,—really naughty, I mean.""How does she try you?" asked Mrs. Rush, though she believed she could herself have answered as to the cause of complaint."She puts off so," said Bessie. "Aunt May, I think she\'s the greatest put-offer we ever saw; and sometimes it makes things so hard to bear. We try not to be provoked \'cause we love her so; but sometimes we can\'t help being a little. I b\'lieve it troubles people as much as if she was real naughty in some way.""Yes, procrastination is a very troublesome fault," said Mrs. Rush."Not a fault, is it, Aunt May?" asked Maggie. "I thought it was only a habit of Lily\'s."[11]"And Lily is a pretty good child," said Belle Powers. "She is mischievous, and makes us laugh in school sometimes; but I b\'lieve that is about all the naughty things she does, and I think that is a pretty good account for one child.""Putting off is not being naughty, is it, Aunt May?" pleaded Bessie, unwilling, even amid her vexation, to have one of her favorite playmates thus blamed."Well, darling," answered Mrs. Rush, "I fear that procrastination and a want of punctuality must be considered as rather serious faults. I see you are vexed and troubled now; why, I cannot tell, more than that Lily has caused it in some way; and I think that any habit which needlessly tries and irritates other people can be called nothing less than a fault, and a bad one, too. What is the matter now?""Why," said Bessie, "you see we are all going to the party at Miss Ashton\'s this afternoon, and Lily was to be here at four o\'clock to go with us; and when grandmamma was going home just now, she said she would take[12] us all around in her carriage; but Lily was not here, and we did not like to go without her, and grandmamma could not wait. But grandmamma said the carriage should come back for us, and it has; and mamma says it is twenty minutes past four, and there Lily has not come yet, and we don\'t know what to do, and we can\'t help being provoked." Views: 369
Leopold Classic Library is delighted to publish this classic book as part of our extensive collection. As part of our on-going commitment to delivering value to the reader, we have also provided you with a link to a website, where you may download a digital version of this work for free. Many of the books in our collection have been out of print for decades, and therefore have not been accessible to the general public. Whilst the books in this collection have not been hand curated, an aim of our publishing program is to facilitate rapid access to this vast reservoir of literature. As a result of this book being first published many decades ago, it may have occasional imperfections. These imperfections may include poor picture quality, blurred or missing text. While some of these imperfections may have appeared in the original work, others may have resulted from the scanning process that has been applied. However, our view is that this is a significant literary work, which deserves to be brought back into print after many decades. While some publishers have applied optical character recognition (OCR), this approach has its own drawbacks, which include formatting errors, misspelt words, or the presence of inappropriate characters. Our philosophy has been guided by a desire to provide the reader with an experience that is as close as possible to ownership of the original work. We hope that you will enjoy this wonderful classic book, and that the occasional imperfection that it might contain will not detract from the experience. Views: 368
This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1920 edition. Excerpt: ... Chapter Three THE BEGINNING OF THE SEARCH "You?" cried Private Smith. "Ye Gods! And I haven't even a match left so I can see you before we go. I die in better company than I know." Trent could hear that he raised himself slowly and painfully to his feet. Then he heard the soldier's heels click smartly together. "Ave Caesar --" he began. But the immortal speech of those gladiators being about to die was not finished. There broke on Trent's astonished gaze a flash of sunlight that made him blink painfully. And the terrifying noise of high explosive hurt his ears and that swift dreadful sucking of the air that followed such explosions was about him again in its intensity. He had been dug out of his tomb for what? The doctors thought him a very bad case. Of course he was delirious. He stuck to a ridiculous story that he was imprisoned in a tomb with one William Smith, a private in the 78th Battalion of the City of London Regiment and that H. E, had mysteriously disinterred him. H. E. did perform marvels that were seemingly against known natural laws but Private Trent was obviously suffering from shell shock. When he was better and had been removed to a hospital far from the area of fighting he still kept to his story. One of the doctors who liked him explained that the delusion must be banished. He spoke very convincingly. He explained by latest methods that the unreal becomes real unless the patient gets a grip on himself. He said that Trent was likely to go through life trying to find a non-existent friend and ruining his prospects in the doing of it. "I'll admit," he said at the end of his harrangue, "that you choose your friend's name well." "Why do you say that?" Trent asked. "Because the muster roll of the 78th shows no fewer than... Views: 366
