短篇小说 | Silence -- a Fable
"LISTEN to me," said the Demon as he placed his hand upon my head. "The region of which I speak is a dreary region in Libya, by the borders of the river Zaire. And there is no quiet there, nor silence.
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短篇小说 | An Unfinished Story
We no longer groan and heap ashes upon our heads when the flames of Tophet are mentioned.
短篇小说 | A Very Fine Fiddle
WHEN the half dozen little ones were hungry, old Cléophas would take the fiddle from its flannel bag and play a tune upon it.
短篇小说 | Shadow
YE who read are still among the living; but I who write shall have long since gone my way into the region of shadows.
短篇小说 | An Unfinished Christmas Story
There is progress in this; but it is all very sad. There are just as many real Christmas stories as ever, if we would only dig 'em up.
短篇小说 | A Turkey Hunt
Artemise, for some unknown reason, had hidden herself during the search behind the hen-house, and had heard their muffled gobble.
短篇小说 | Philosophy of Furniture
In the internal decoration, if not in the external architecture of their residences, the English are supreme. The Italians have but little sentiment beyond marbles and colours.
短篇小说 | A Newspaper Story
AT 8 a.m. it lay on Giuseppi's news-stand, still damp from the presses.
短篇小说 | At the 'Cadian Ball
Bobint, that big, brown, good-natured Bobint, had no intention of going to the ball, even though he knew Calixta would be there.
短篇小说 | Old English Poetry
In common with all the world, we have been much delighted with "The Shepherd's Hunting" by Withers--a poem partaking, in a remarkable degree, of the peculiarities of "Il Penseroso." Speaking of Poesy the author says:
短篇小说 | An Apology
We have missed two issues of The Rolling Stone, and are now slightly convalescent, for which we desire to apologize and express our regrets.
短篇小说 | Athénaïse
"Listen, Cazeau! How Juliette's baby is crying! Pauvre ti chou, I wonder w'at is the matter with it?"
