The wind blew hard and joggled the water of the ocean, sending ripples across its surface.Then the wind pushed the edges of the ripples until they became waves, and shoved the waves around until they became billows.The billows rolled dreadfully high: higher even than the tops of houses.Some of them, indeed, rolled as high as the tops of tall trees, and seemed like mountains; and the gulfs between the great billows were like deep valleys.　　All this mad dashing and splashing of the waters of the big ocean, which the mischievous wind caused without any good reason whatever, resulted in a ter　

　1　 With a gentle sigh the service tube dropped a message capsule into the receiving cup. The attention bell chimed once and was silent. Jason dinAlt stared at the harmless capsule as though it were a ticking bomb.　 Something was going wrong. He felt a hard knot of tension form inside of him. This was no routine service memo or hotel munication, but a sealed personal message. Yet he knew no one on this planet, having arrived by spacer less than eight hours earlier. Since even his name was new-dating back to the last time he had changed ships- there could be no personal messages. Yet here one 　

THE MASTERY OF THE AIRTHE MASTERY OFTHE AIRby WILLIAM J. CLAXTONPREFACEThis book makes no pretence of going minutely into the technical andscientific sides of human flight: rather does it deal mainly with the realachievements of pioneers who have helped to make aviation what it is to-day.My chief object has been to arouse among my readers an intelligentinterest in the art of flight, and, profiting by friendly criticism of several of...　

TO BE READ AT DUSKTO BE READ AT DUSKby Charles Dickens1- Page 2-TO BE READ AT DUSKOne, two, three, four, five. There were five of them.Five couriers, sitting on a bench outside the convent on the summit ofthe Great St. Bernard in Switzerland, looking at the remote heights,stained by the setting sun as if a mighty quantity of red wine had been...　

1872FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSENTWO MAIDENSby Hans Christian AndersenHAVE you ever seen a maiden? I mean what our pavers call a maiden, a thing with which they ram down the paving-stones in the roads. A maiden of this kind is made altogether of wood, broad below, and girt round with iron rings. At the top she is narrow, and has a stick passed across through her waist, and this stick forms the arms of the maiden.In the shed stood two Maidens of this kind. They had their placeamong shovels, hand-carts, wheelbarrows, and measuring-tapes; and to all this company the news had come that t　

A Theologico-Political Treatise Part 2A Theologico-PoliticalTreatise Part 2Chapters VI to XBaruch Spinoza1- Page 2-A Theologico-Political Treatise Part 2CHAPTER VI. - OFMIRACLES.(1) As men are accustomed to call Divine the knowledge whichtranscends human understanding, so also do they style Divine, or the work...　

　　Walking up the wall had not been easy. But walking across the ceiling was turning out to be pletely impossible. Until I realized that I was going about it the wrong way. It seemed obvious when I thought about it. When I held onto the ceiling with my hands I could not move my feet. So I switched off the molebind gloves and swung down, hanging only from the soles of my boots. The blood rushed to my head-as well it might bringing with it a surge of nausea and a sensation of great unease.　What was I doing here, hanging upside down from the ceiling of the Mint, watching the machine below stamp o　

　　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　

The Pathfinder, or, The Inland Seaby James Fenimore CooperPREFACEThe plan of this tale suggested itself to the writer manyyears since, though the details are altogether of recent in-vention. The idea of associating seamen and savages inincidents that might be supposed characteristic of theGreat Lakes having been mentioned to a Publisher, thelatter obtained something like a pledge from the Authorto carry out the design at some future day, which pledgeis now tardily and imperfectly redeemed.The reader may recognize an old friend under new cir-cumstances in the principal character of this legen　

Voyage of The Paper Canoeby N. H. BishopA GEOGRAPHICAL JOURNEY OF 2500 MILES FROM QUEBEC TO THE GULF OF MEXICO, DURING THE YEARS 1874-5.BY NATHANIEL H. BISHOP,AUTHOR OF "ONE THOUSAND MILES WALK ACROSS SOUTH AMERICA" AND CORRESPONDING MEMBER OF THE BOSTON SOCIETY OF NATURAL HISTORY AND OF THE NEW YORK ACADEMY OF SCIENCES.BOSTON: LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS. NEW YORK: CHARLES T. DILLINGHAM. 1878.TO THE SUPERINTENDENT. ASSISTANTS, AIDS, AND ALL EMPLOYEES OF THE UNITED STATES COAST SURVEY BUREAU, THE "VOYAGE OF THE PAPER CANOE" IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED,AS A SLIGHT EVIDENCE OF THE APPRECIATION 　

EvergreensEvergreensby Jerome K. Jerome1- Page 2-EvergreensThey look so dull and dowdy in the spring weather, when the snowdrops and the crocuses are putting on their dainty frocks of white andmauve and yellow, and the baby-buds from every branch are peeping withbright eyes out on the world, and stretching forth soft little leaves towardthe coming gladness of their lives. They stand apart, so cold and hard...　

THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMESThe Red-Headed LeagueI had called upon my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, one day in theautumn of last year and found him in deep conversation with a verystout, florid-faced, elderly gentleman with fiery red hair. Withan apology for my intrusion, I was about to withdraw when Holmespulled me abruptly into the room and closed the door behind me."You could not possibly have come at a better time, my dearWatson," he said cordially....　

Emile Zolaby William Dean HowellsIn these times of electrical movement, the sort of constructionin the moral world for which ages were once needed, takes placealmost simultaneously with the event to be adjusted in history,and as true a perspective forms itself as any in the past. A fewweeks after the death of a poet of such great epical imagination,such great ethical force, as Emile Zola, we may see him asclearly and judge him as fairly as posterity alone was formerlysupposed able to see and to judge the heroes that antedated it.The present is always holding in solution the elements of the..　

　ACKNOWLEDGMENTS　Lincoln Child would like to thank Lee Suckno, M.D.; Bry Benjamin, M.D.; Anthony Cifelli, M.D.; and Traian Parvulescu, M.D., for their assistance. Thanks also to my family, nuclear and extended, for their love and support. Special thanks to Nancy Child, my mother, for operatic advice.　Douglas Preston expresses his great appreciation to Christine and Selene for their invaluable advice on the manuscript, and, as always, would like to give his thanks to Aletheia and Isaac. He would also like to thank James Mortimer Gibbons, Jr., M.D., for his very helpful medical expertise....　

　　　　The Treloar Building was, and is, on Olive Street, near Sixth, on the west side. The sidewalk in front of it had been built of black and white rubber blocks. They were taking them up now to give to the government, and a hatless pale man with a face like a building superintendent was watching the work and looking as if it was breaking his heart.　　I went past him through an arcade of specialty shops into a vast black and gold lobby. The Gillerlain pany was on the seventh floor, in front, behind swinging double plate glass doors bound in platinum. Their reception room had Chinese rugs, dull 　

　Kona Weather　　MISS MINERVA WINTERSLIP was a Bostonian in good standing, and long past the romantic age. Yet beauty thrilled her still, even the semi-barbaric beauty of a Pacific island. As she walked slowly along the beach she felt the little catch in her throat that sometimes she had known in Symphony Hall, Boston, when her favorite orchestra rose to some new and unexpected height of loveliness.　It was the hour at which she liked Waikiki best, the hour just preceding dinner and the quick tropic darkness. The shadows cast by the tall cocoanut palms lengthened and deepened, the light of the f