The Bab BalladsThe Bab BalladsW. S. Gilbert1- Page 2-The Bab BalladsBallad: Captain ReeceOf all the ships upon the blue, No ship contained a better crew Thanthat of worthy CAPTAIN REECE, Commanding of THEMANTELPIECE.He was adored by all his men, For worthy CAPTAIN REECE, R.N.,Did all that lay within him to Promote the comfort of his crew....¡¡

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...¡¡

The Duchesse de Langeaisby Honore de BalzacTHE DUCHESS OF LANGEAISIIn a Spanish city on an island in the Mediterranean, there stands a convent of the Order of Barefoot Carmelites, where the rule instituted by St. Theresa is still preserved with all the first rigour of the reformation brought about by that illustrious woman. Extraordinary as this may seem, it is none the less true.Almost every religious house in the Peninsula, or in Europe for that matter, was either destroyed or disorganised by the outbreak of the French Revolution and the Napoleonic wars; but as this island was protected th¡¡

¡¡THE SWEETHEART OF A KING.¡¡¡¡The scene was not exactly new to me. Moved by the spirit of adventure, or by an access of ennui which overtakes me at times, I had several times visited the gaudy establishment of Mercer, on the fashionable side of Fifth Avenue in the Fifties. In either case I had found disappointment; where the stake is a matter of indifference there can be no excitement; and besides, I had been always in luck.¡¡But on this occasion I had a real purpose before me, though not an important one, and I surrendered my hat and coat to the servant at the door with a feeling of satisfactio¡¡

¡¡¡¡John Dean. Henry Kissinger. Adolph Hitler. Caryl Chessman. Jeb Magruder. Napoleon. Talleyrand. Disraeli. Robert Zimmerman, also known as Bob Dylan. Locke. Charlton Heston. Errol Flynn. The Ayatollah Khomeini. Gandhi. Charles Olson. Charles Colson. A Victorian Gentleman. Dr. X.¡¡¡¡Most people also believe that God has written a Book, or Books, telling what He did and why-at least to a degree-He did those things, and since most of these people also believe that humans were made in the image of God, then He also may be regarded as a person. . . or, mare properly, as a Person.¡¡¡¡Here are some peop¡¡

¡¡Acknowledgments¡¡The authors would like to acknowledge mander Stephen Littfin, United States Naval Reserve, for his invaluable help with the naval aspects of The Ice Limit. Our deep gratitude also goes out to Michael Tusiani and Captain Emilio Fernandez Sierra, who corrected various tanker-related elements of the manuscript. We would also like to thank Tim Tiernan for his advice on metallurgy and physics, the meteorite hunter Charlie Snell of Santa Fe for information on how meteorite hunters actually operate, and Frank Ryle, senior structural engineer at Ove Arup & Partners. We also want to e¡¡

¡¡This novel is dedicated to Stan, Christopher, Michele and Howard; to Rosario and Patrice; to Pamela and Elaine; and to Niccolo.¡¡This novel is dedicated by Vittorio to the people of Florence, Italy.¡¡¡¡¡¡1¡¡WHO I AM, WHY I WRITE, WHAT IS TO E¡¡¡¡WHEN I was a small boy I had a terrible dream. I dreamt I held in my arms the severed heads of my younger brother I and sister. They were quick still, and mute, with big fluttering eyes, and reddened cheeks, and so horrified was I that I could make no more of a sound than they could. The dream came true.¡¡But no one will weep for me or for them. They have be¡¡

¡¡A sea of mist drifted through the cloud forest: soft, grey, luminescent. On the high ridges the fog showed brighter as the morning sun began to warm and lift the moisture, although in the ravine a cool, soundless dimness still counterfeited a pre-dawn twilight.¡¡mander Cordelia Naismith glanced at her team botanist and adjusted the straps of her biological collecting equipment a bit more fortably before continuing her breathless climb. She pushed a long tendril of fog-dampened copper hair out of her eyes, clawing it impatiently toward the clasp at the nape of her neck. Their next survey area ¡¡

¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡This story takes place in an America whose history is often similar to, but often quite different from our own. You should not assume that the portrayal in this book of a person who shares a name with a figure from American history is an accurate portrayal of that historical figure. In particular, you should be aware that William Henry Harrison, famed in our own history for having the briefest presidency and for his unforgettable election slogan "Tippecanoe and Tyler too," was a somewhat nicer person than his counterpart in this book.¡¡¡¡My thanks to Carol Breakstone for American Indian lor¡¡

SUMMERCHAPTER ONE¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡GRADUALLY THE girl came to the conclusion that she was ill. It could not be anything else.¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡She pushed her way across the pavement, stood with her back against a brick wall, felt the rough surface scraping her skin through her blouse and jeans. The brickwork seemed to move, like a piece of automatically operated emery paper. Up, down, up, down. Her groping fingers found a doorpost, gripped it; it was moving too. Up, down, up, down, gyrating.¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡People pushed past her, bumped into her. A woman clutched at her, almost pulled her down, but somehow she held on. Everybody¡¡

¡¡Prologue¡¡¡¡ "e home, Tenar! e home!"¡¡ In the deep valley, in the twilight, the apple trees were on the eve of blossoming; here and there among the shadowed boughs one flower had opened early, rose and white, like a faint star. Down the orchard aisles, in the thick, new, wet grass, the little girl ran for the joy of running; hearing the call she did not e at once, but made a long circle before she turned her face towards home. The mother waiting in the doorway of the hut, with the firelight behind her, watched the tiny figure running and bobbing like a bit of thistledown blown over the darkeni¡¡

Ragged Lady, v1by William Dean HowellsPart 1.I.It was their first summer at Middlemount and the Landers did not know theroads. When they came to a place where they had a choice of two, shesaid that now he must get out of the carry-all and ask at the housestanding a little back in the edge of the pine woods, which road theyought to take for South Middlemount. She alleged many cases in whichthey had met trouble through his perverse reluctance to find out wherethey were before he pushed rashly forward in their drives. Whilst sheurged the facts she reached forward from the back seat where she ¡¡

Marie Antoinette And Her Sonby Louise MuhlbachBOOK I.CHAPTER I.A HAPPY QUEEN.It was the 13th of August, 1785. The queen, Marie Antoinette, had atlast yielded to the requests and protestations of her dear subjects.She had left her fair Versailles and loved Trianon for one day, andhad gone to Paris, in order to exhibit herself and the young princewhom she had borne to the king and the country on the 25th of March,and to receive in the cathedral of Notre Dame the blessing of theclergy and the good wishes of the Parisians.She had had an enthusiastic reception, this beautiful and much loved...¡¡

The Financierby Theodore DreiserChapter IThe Philadelphia into which Frank Algernon Cowperwood was born was a city of two hundred and fifty thousand and more. It was set with handsome parks, notable buildings, and crowded with historic memories. Many of the things that we and he knew later were not then in existencethe telegraph, telephone, express company, ocean steamer, city delivery of mails. There were no postage-stamps or registered letters. The street car had not arrived. In its place were hosts of omnibuses, and for longer travel the slowly developing railroad system still largely¡¡

Ernest HemingwayWith a variety of themes and moods, dynamic action scenes andunexpectedlya rich and ribald sense of humor, ISLANDS IN THE STREAM tells a story closely resembling Hemingway¡¦s life.¡@Thomas Hudson is ¡§a good painter.¡¨ His solitary life of artistic self-discipline on the lush Caribbean island of Bimini is interrupted by a visit from his three lively sons. In a thrilling descriptive scene, David, the middle boy, shows his courage when attacked by a shark and his endurance while fighting a thousand-pound swordfish. It is an initiation into manhood.¡@Years later, Hudson is in Cuba mou¡¡

PREFACETOTHE THIRD EDITION.OCTOBER 1814.To this slight attempt at a sketch of ancient Scottish manners thepublic have been more favourable than the Author durst have hopedor expected. He has heard, with a mixture of satisfaction andhumility, his work ascribed to more than one respectable name.Considerations, which seem weighty in his particular situation, preventhis releasing those gentlemen from suspicion by placing his ownname in the title-page; so that, for the present at least, it must remainuncertain whether Waverley be the work of a poet or acritic, a lawyer or a clergyman, or whether t¡¡