Genre Fiction. Page - 294
at who can."
The Fox and the Goat
A FOX one day fell into a deep well and could find no means of escape. A Goat, overcome with thirst, came to the same well, and seeing the Fox, inquired if the water was good. Concealing his sad plight under a merry guise, the Fox indulged in a lavish praise of the water, saying it was excellent beyond measure, and encouraging him to descend. The Goat, mindful only of his thirst, thoughtlessly jumped down, but just as he drank, the Fox informed him of the difficulty they were both in and suggested a scheme for their common escape. "If," said he, "you will place your forefeet upon the wall and bend your head, I will run up your back and escape, and will help you out afterwards." The Goat readily assented and the Fox leaped upon his back. Steadying himself with the Goat's horns, he safely reached the mouth of the well and made off as fast as he could. When the Goat upbraided him for breaking his promise, he turned around and cried out, "You foolish old fellow! If
and sat down to the Pall Mall at twenty minutes before six. Half an hour later several members of the Reform came in and drew up to the fireplace, where a coal fire was steadily burning. They were Mr. Fogg's usual partners at whist: Andrew Stuart, an engineer; John Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, bankers; Thomas Flanagan, a brewer; and Gauthier Ralph, one of the Directors of the Bank of England-- all rich and highly respectable personages, even in a club which comprises the princes of English trade and finance.
"Well, Ralph," said Thomas Flanagan, "what about that robbery?"
"Oh," replied Stuart, "the Bank will lose the money."
"On the contrary," broke in Ralph, "I hope we may put our hands on the robber. Skilful detectives have been sent to all the principal ports of America and the Continent, and he'll be a clever fellow if he slips through their fingers."
"But have you got the robber's description?" asked Stuart.
"In the first place, he is no robber at all," returned Ralph
rds the small hours on a Friday night.
I need say nothing here, on the first head, because nothing can show better than my history whether that prediction was verified or falsified by the result. On the second branch of the question, I will only remark, that unless I ran through that part of my inheritance while I was still a baby, I have not come into it yet. But I do not at all complain of having been kept out of this property; and if anybody else should be in the present enjoyment of it, he is heartily welcome to keep it.
I was born with a caul, which was advertised for sale, in the newspapers, at the low price of fifteen guineas. Whether sea-going people were short of money about that time, or were short of faith and preferred cork jackets, I don't know; all I know is, that there was but one solitary bidding, and that was from an attorney connected with the bill-broking business, who offered two pounds in cash, and the balance in sherry, but declined to be guaranteed from drowning on any hig
.
Gurney: What was the face value of the policy?
Gorham: One thousand dollars.
Gurney: Do you know how much money Morlock owed at the time of his wife's death?
Gorham: Certainly not.
Gurney: But you do know that he was heavily in debt and that he was being hounded by his creditors.
* * *
The Commonwealth of Massachusetts vs. Alvin Morlock. Direct testimony of George Gorham.
It was only half-past two when Morlock stopped in front of the immaculately gleaming facade of the appliance store. Embarrassment and shame waited for him in the building, and he hesitated before he entered. He had been here once before when Lolly had picked out a television set and a refrigerator and a stove. In that order, he remembered wryly. And the largest television set, the smallest refrigerator and stove.
He shook his head silently at the clerk who came to meet him and walked toward the back of the store where a green neon script sign marked the credit departme
THE HOUSE OF FAME
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA
CHAUCER'S DREAM [1]
THE PROLOGUE TO THE LEGEND OF GOOD WOMEN
CHAUCER'S A.B.C.
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS
Transcriber's Note.
- Modern scholars believe that Chaucer was not the author ofthese poems.
PREFACE.
THE object of this volume is to place before the general readerour two early poetic masterpieces -- The Canterbury Tales andThe Faerie Queen; to do so in a way that will render their"popular perusal" easy in a time of little leisure and unboundedtemptations to intellectual languor; and, on the same conditions,to present a liberal and fairly representative selection from theless important and familiar poems of Chaucer and Spenser.There is, it may be said at the outset, peculiar advantage andpropriety in placing the two poets side by side in the mannernow attempted for the first time. Although two
person who stayed in our house whom we called the captain.
"Well," said he, "my mate Bill would be called the captain, as like as not. He has a cut on one cheek and a mighty pleasant way with him, particularly in drink, has my mate Bill. We'll put it, for argument like, that your captain has a cut on one cheek--and we'll put it, if you like, that that cheek's the right one. Ah, well! I told you. Now, is my mate Bill in this here house?"
I told him he was out walking.
"Which way, sonny? Which way is he gone?"
And when I had pointed out the rock and told him how the captain was likely to return, and how soon, and answered a few other questions, "Ah," said he, "this'll be as good as drink to my mate Bill."
The expression of his face as he said these words was not at all pleasant, and I had my own reasons for thinking that the stranger was mistaken, even supposing he meant what he said. But it was no affair of mine, I thought; and besides, it was difficult to know what to do. Th
a skeleton frame. His eyes are so deep that you can hardly see the fixed pupils. You just see two big black holes, as in a dead man's skull. His skin, which is stretched across his bones like a drumhead, is not white, but a nasty yellow. His nose is so little worth talking about that you can't see it side-face; and THE ABSENCE of that nose is a horrible thing TO LOOK AT. All the hair he has is three or four long dark locks on his forehead and behind his ears."
This chief scene-shifter was a serious, sober, steady man, very slow at imagining things. His words were received with interest and amazement; and soon there were other people to say that they too had met a man in dress-clothes with a death's head on his shoulders. Sensible men who had wind of the story began by saying that Joseph Buquet had been the victim of a joke played by one of his assistants. And then, one after the other, there came a series of incidents so curious and so inexplicable that the very shrewdest people began to feel uneasy.
pany them upstairs while he questioned her. In the absence of the coroner he wouldn't let the doctor touch the body.
"I must repair this lock," he said, "the first thing, so nothing can be disturbed."
Doctor Groom, a grim and dark man, had grown silent on entering the room. For a long time he stared at the body in the candle light, making as much of an examination as he could, evidently, without physical contact.
"Why did he ever come here to sleep?" he asked in his rumbling bass voice. "Nasty room! Unhealthy room! Ten to one you're a formality, policeman. Coroner's a formality."
He sneered a little.
"I daresay he died what the hard-headed world will call a natural death. Wonder what the coroner'll say."
The detective didn't answer. He shot rapid, uneasy glances about the room in which a single candle burned. After a time he said with an accent of complete conviction:
"That man was murdered."
Perhaps the doctor's significant words, added to her earlier d
study of words, phrases, and literary expressions is a highly interesting pursuit. There is a reciprocal influence between thought and language. What we think molds the words we use, and the words we use react upon our thoughts. Hence a study of words is a study of ideas, and a stimulant to deep and original thinking.
We should not, however, study "sparkling words and sonorous phrases" with the object of introducing them consciously into our speech. To do so would inevitably lead to stiltedness and superficiality. Words and phrases should be studied as symbols of ideas, and as we become thoroughly familiar with them they will play an unconscious but effective part in our daily expression.
We acquire our vocabulary largely from our reading and our personal associates. The words we use are an unmistakable indication of our thought habits, tastes, ideals, and interests in life. In like manner, the habitual language of a people is a barometer of their intellectual, civil, moral, and spiritual ideals
e end of her nose, while she counted "One, two, three" in a solemn voice. At once the cap changed to a slate, on which was written in big, white chalk marks:
"LET DOROTHY GO TO THE CITY OF EMERALDS"
The little old woman took the slate from her nose, and having read the words on it, asked, "Is your name Dorothy, my dear?"
"Yes," answered the child, looking up and drying her tears.
"Then you must go to the City of Emeralds. Perhaps Oz will help you."
"Where is this city?" asked Dorothy.
"It is exactly in the center of the country, and is ruled by Oz, the Great Wizard I told you of."
"Is he a good man?" inquired the girl anxiously.
"He is a good Wizard. Whether he is a man or not I cannot tell, for I have never seen him."
"How can I get there?" asked Dorothy.
"You must walk. It is a long journey, through a country that is sometimes pleasant and sometimes dark and terrible. However, I will use all the magic arts I know of to keep you from harm.