| 21 | Author: | Davis, Richard Harding, 1864-1916. | Add | | Title: | Soldiers of Fortune | | | Published: | 1994 | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | | | Description: | “IT is so good of you to come early,” said Mrs.
Porter, as Alice Langham entered the drawing-room. “I want
to ask a favor of you. I'm sure you won't mind. I would ask one
of the débutantes, except that they're always so cross
if one puts them next to men they don't know and who can't help
them, and so I thought I'd just ask you, you're so good-natured.
You don't mind, do you?” | | Similar Items: | Find |
25 | Author: | Ferber, Edna | Add | | Title: | Buttered Side Down | | | Published: | 1994 | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | | | Description: | Any one who has ever written for the magazines (nobody could
devise a more sweeping opening; it includes the iceman who does a
humorous article on the subject of his troubles, and the
neglected wife next door, who journalizes) knows that a story the scene of
which is not New York is merely junk. Take Fifth Avenue as a
framework, pad it out to five thousand words, and there you have
the ideal short story. | | Similar Items: | Find |
26 | Author: | Jewett, Sarah Orne | Add | | Title: | In Dark New England Days | | | Published: | 1994 | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | | | Description: | THE last of the neighbors was going home; officious Mrs. Peter
Downs had lingered late and sought for additional housework with
which to prolong her stay. She had talked incessantly, and
buzzed like a busy bee as she helped to put away the best
crockery after the funeral supper, while the sisters Betsey and
Hannah Knowles grew every moment more forbidding and unwilling to
speak. They lighted a solitary small oil lamp at last as if for
Sunday evening idleness, and put it on the side table in the
kitchen. | | Similar Items: | Find |
27 | Author: | Leroux, Gaston | Add | | Title: | The Phantom of the Opera | | | Published: | 1994 | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | | | Description: | The Opera ghost really existed. He was not, as was long
believed, a creature of the imagination of the artists, the
superstition of the managers, or a product of the absurd and
impressionable brains of the young ladies of the ballet, their
mothers, the box-keepers, the cloak-room attendants or the
concierge. Yes, he existed in flesh and blood, although he
assumed the complete appearance of a real phantom; that is to
say, of a spectral shade. | | Similar Items: | Find |
28 | Author: | Montgomery, L. M. | Add | | Title: | Anne of Avonlea | | | Published: | 1994 | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | | | Description: | A tall, slim girl, “half-past sixteen,” with serious gray
eyes and hair which her friends called auburn, had sat down on the
broad red sandstone doorstep of a Prince Edward Island farmhouse one
ripe afternoon in August, firmly resolved to construe so many lines of
Virgil. | | Similar Items: | Find |
29 | Author: | Morris, William | Add | | Title: | A Dream of John Ball and a King's Lesson | | | Published: | 1994 | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | | | Description: | SOMETIMES I am rewarded for fretting myself so much about
present matters by a quite unasked-for pleasant dream. I mean
when I am asleep. This dream is as it were a present of an
architectural peep-show. I see some beautiful and noble building
new made, as it were for the occasion, as clearly as if I were
awake; not vaguely or absurdly, as often happens in dreams, but
with all the detail clear and reasonable. Some Elizabethan house
with its scrap of earlier fourteenth-century building, and its
later degradations of Queen Anne and Silly Billy{A} and Victoria,
marring but not destroying it, in an old village
once a clearing
amid the sandy woodlands of Sussex. Or an old and unusually
curious church, much churchwardened, and beside it a fragment of
fifteenth-century domestic architecture amongst the not
unpicturesque lath and plaster of an Essex farm, and looking
natural enough among the sleepy elms and the meditative hens
scratching about in the litter of the farmyard, whose trodden
yellow straw comes up to the very jambs of the richly carved
Norman doorway of the church. Or sometimes 'tis a splendid
collegiate church, untouched by restoring parson and architect,
standing amid an island of shapely trees and flower-beset
cottages of thatched grey stone and cob, amidst the narrow
stretch of bright green water-meadows that wind between the
sweeping Wiltshire downs, so well beloved of William Cobbett. Or
some new-seen and yet familiar cluster of houses in a grey
village of the upper Thames over
topped by the delicate tracery of a fourteenth-century church; or
even sometimes the very buildings of the past untouched by the
degradation of the sordid utilitarianism that cares not and knows
not of beauty and history: as once, when I was journeying (in a
dream of the night) down the well-remembered reaches of the
Thames betwixt Streatley and Wallingford, where the foothills of
the White Horse fall back from the broad stream, I came upon a
clear-seen mediæval town standing up with roof and tower and
spire within its walls, grey and ancient, but untouched from the
days of its builders of old. All this I have seen in the dreams
of the night clearer than I can force myself to see them in
dreams of the day. So that it would have been nothing new to me
the other night to fall into an architectural dream if that were
all, and yet I have to tell of things strange and new that befell
me after I had fallen asleep. I had begun my sojourn in the Land
of Nod by a
very confused attempt to conclude that it was all right for me to
have an engagement to lecture at Manchester and Mitcham Fair
Green at half-past eleven at night on one and the same Sunday,
and that I could manage pretty well. And then I had gone on to
try to make the best of addressing a large open-air audience in
the costume I was really then wearing—to wit, my night-shirt,
reinforced for the dream occasion by a pair of braceless
trousers. The consciousness of this fact so bothered me, that
the earnest faces of my audience—who would
not notice it, but were clearly preparing
terrible anti-Socialist posers for me—began to fade away and my
dream grew thin, and I awoke (as I thought) to find myself lying
on a strip of wayside waste by an oak copse just outside a
country village. | | Similar Items: | Find |
33 | Author: | Quayle, William A. | Add | | Title: | A Hero — Jean Valjean | | | Published: | 1994 | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | | | Description: | THE hero is not a luxury, but a necessity.
We can no more do without him than we
can do without the sky. Every best man and
woman is at heart a hero-worshiper. Emerson
acutely remarks that all men admire Napoleon
because he was themselves in possibility. They
were in miniature what he was developed. For
a like though nobler reason, all men love heroes.
They are ourselves grown tall, puissant, victorious,
and sprung into nobility, worth, service. The hero
electrifies the world; he is the lightning of the soul,
illuminating our sky, clarifying the air, making it
thereby salubrious and delightful. What any elect
spirit did, inures to the credit of us all. A
fragment of Lowell's clarion verse may stand for the
biography of heroism: | | Similar Items: | Find |
34 | Author: | Rinehart, Mary Roberts | Add | | Title: | The Circular Staircase | | | Published: | 1994 | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | | | Description: | THIS is the story of how a middle-aged spinster lost her mind,
deserted her domestic gods in the city, took a furnished house
for the summer out of town, and found herself involved in one of
those mysterious crimes that keep our newspapers and detective
agencies happy and prosperous. For twenty years I had been
perfectly comfortable; for twenty years I had had the window-boxes filled in the spring, the carpets lifted, the awnings put
up and the furniture covered with brown linen; for as many
summers I had said good-by to my friends, and, after watching
their perspiring hegira, had settled down to a delicious quiet in
town, where the mail comes three times a day, and the water
supply does not depend on a tank on the roof. | | Similar Items: | Find |
35 | Author: | Rinehart, Mary Roberts | Add | | Title: | Where there's a Will | | | Published: | 1994 | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | | | Description: | WHEN it was all over Mr. Sam came out to the spring-house to
say good-by to me before he and Mrs. Sam left. I hated to see
him go, after all we had been through together, and I suppose he
saw it in my face, for he came over close and stood looking down
at me, and smiling. "You saved us, Minnie," he said, "and I
needn't tell you we're grateful; but do you know what I think?"
he asked, pointing his long forefinger at me. "I think you've
enjoyed it even when you were suffering most. Red-haired women
are born to intrigue, as the sparks fly upward." | | Similar Items: | Find |
37 | Author: | Tarkington, Booth, 1869-1946 | Add | | Title: | The Flirt | | | Published: | 1994 | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | | | Description: | Valentine Corliss walked up Corliss Street the hottest afternoon
of that hot August, a year ago, wearing a suit of white serge
which attracted a little attention from those observers who were
able to observe anything except the heat. The coat was shaped
delicately; it outlined the wearer, and, fitting him as women's
clothes fit women, suggested an effeminacy not an attribute of
the tall Corliss. The effeminacy belonged all to the tailor, an
artist plying far from Corliss Street, for the coat would have
encountered a hundred of its fellows at Trouville or Ostende this
very day. Corliss Street is the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne, the
Park Lane, the Fifth Avenue, of Capitol City, that smoky
illuminant of our great central levels, but although it esteems
itself an established cosmopolitan thoroughfare, it is still
provincial enough to be watchful; and even in its torrid languor
took some note of the alien garment. | | Similar Items: | Find |
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