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The true story of the Vatican Council

26 30

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The Helpful Robots

They had come to pass judgement on him. He had violated their law--wilfully, ignorantly, and very deliberately. Classic science fiction from Robert Shea.

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A monograph of the Cretaceous Lamellibranchia of England v 2

Added t.p.: The Palaeontographical Society extracted picklist

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allegories of life

CONTENTS. I. THE BELLS II. THE HEIGHT III. THE PILGRIM IV. FAITH V. HOPE VI. JOY AND SORROW VII. UPWARD VIII. THE OAK IX. TRUTH AND ERROR X. THE TREE XI. THE TWO WAYS XII. THE URNS XIII. SELF-EXERTION XIV. THE VINES XV. IN THE WORLD XVI. FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY XVII. GOING FORTH XVIII. THE FEAST XIX. THE LESSON OF THE STONE XX. THE SEEDS XXI. ONLY GOLD XXII. THE SACRIFICE XXIII. STRANGERSI.THE BELLS.In the steeple of an old church was a beautiful chime of bells, whichfor many years had rung out joyous peals at the touch of the sexton'shand upon the rope."I'll make the air full of music to-morrow," said the white-haired man,as he lay down to his slumbers. "To-morrow is Christmas, and the peopleshall be glad and gay. Ah, yes! right merry will be the chimes I shallring them." Soon sleep gathered him in a close embrace, and visions ofthe morrow's joy flitted over his brain.At midnight some dark clouds swept over the tower, while darker shadowsof discontent fell on the peaceful chime.Hark! what was that? A low, discordant sound was heard among the bells."Here we have been ringing for seven long years," murmured the highestbell in the chime."Well, what of it? That's what we are placed here for," said a voicefrom one of the deeper-toned bells."But I have rung long enough. Besides, I am weary of always singingone tone," answered the high bell, in a clear, sharp voice."Together we make sweetest harmony," returned the bell next thecomplainer."I well know that, but I am tired of my one tone, while you can bearmonotony. For my part, I do not mean to answer to the call of the ropeto-morrow.""What! not ring on Christmas Day!" exclaimed all the bells together."No, I don't. You may exclaim as much as you please; but, if youhad common sympathy, you would see in a moment how weary I am ofsinging this one high tone.""But we all have to give our notes," responded a low, sweet-voiced bell."That's just what I mean to change. We are all weary of our notes,and need change.""But we should have to be recast," said the low-toned bell, sadly."Most certainly we should. _I_ should like the fun of that. Now howmany of you will be silent in the morning when the old sexton comes toring us?""I will," answered the lowest-toned bell, boldly."If part of us are silent and refuse to ring, of what use will the restbe?" said one who had remained quiet until then. "For a chime all ofus are needed," she added, sadly."That's just the point," remarked the leader. "If all will be still, nonewill be blamed: the people will think we are worn out and need makingover. So we shall be taken down from this tower where we have been solong, and stand a chance of seeing something of the world. For _my_part, I am tired to death of being up here, and seeing nothing but thisquiet valley."....

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the christmas kalends of provence and some other

Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: feast-Day an tbe Rhone THIS water feast-day was a part of the biennial pilgrimage to the Sainte-Estelle of the Felibrige and the Cigaliers: the two Fe- librien societies maintained in Paris by the children of the South of France. Through twenty-three dreary months those expatriated ones exist in the chill North; in the blessed twenty-fourth month—always in burning August, when the melons are luscious ripe and the grapes are ripening, when the sun they love so well is blazing his best and the whole land is a-quiver with a thrilling stimulating heat—they go joyously southward upon an excursion which has for its climax the great Felibrien festival: and then, in their own gloriously hot Midi, they really live! By a semi-right and by a large courtesy, we of America were of this gay party. Four years earlier, as the official representatives of an American troubadour, we had come upon an embassy to the troubadours of Provence; and such warm relations had sprung up between ourselves and the poets to whom we were accredited that they had ended by making us members of their own elect body: the Society of the Felibrige — wherein are united the troubadours of these modern times. As F£libres, therefore, it was not merely our right but our duty to attend the festival of the Sainte-Estelle; and our official notification in regard to this meeting—received in New York on a chill day in the early springtime—announced also that we were privileged to journey on the special steamboat chartered by our brethren of Paris for the run from Lyons to Avignon down the Rhone. We were called at five o'clock in the morning. Even the little birds of Lyons were drowsy at that untoward and melancholy hour. As I slowly roused myself I heard their sleepy twitterings out in the trees on the Cours du Midi—...

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Partner of the tide

1

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In the Rocky Mountains

Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: CHAPTER III. MY FAMILY HISTORY—MY FATHER, ONCE A CAPTAIN IN THE BRITISH ARM7, COMES TO AMERICA AND MARRIES UNCLE JEFF'S SISTER—HE SETTLES ON A FARM IN OHIO—CLARICE AND I ARE BORN—MY GRANDFATHER'S FARM DESTROYED BY A FLOOD—THE NEXT YEAR OUR FARM IS BURNT— MY FATHER RESOLVES TO MIGRATE TO THE WEST—WE SET OFF IN WAGGONS WITH AN EMIGRANT TRAIN—PROSPEROUS COMMENCEMENT OF JOURNEY— PROVISIONS RUN SHORT—I WITNESS A BUFFALO HUNT—THE EMIGRANTS SUFFER FROM CHOLERA—MY MOTHER DIES—MANY OF THE EMIGRANTS TURN BACK—MY FATHER PERSEVERES—FIERCELY ATTACKED BY INDIANS—WE KEEP THEM AT BAY—AGAIN ATTACKED, WHEN A STRANGER COMES TO OUR ASSISTANCE—CLARICE GIVES HIM A BOOK—HE PROMISES TO READ IT—WE CONTINUE OUR JOURNEY, AND REACH FORT KEARNEY— REMAIN THERE FOR SOME MONTHS—MY FATHER, THOUGH STILL SUFFERING, INSISTS ON SETTING OUT AGAIN—HE SOON BECOMES WORSE, AND DIES —I AM DIGGING HIS GRAVE, WHEN AN EMIGRANT TRAIN COMES BY— UNCLE JEFF IS THE LEADER, AND WE ACCOMPANY HIM TO ROARING WATER. JUT the readers of my Journal, if so I may 1 venture to call it, would like to know how Clarice and I came to be at Uncle Jeffs farm. To do so, I must give a little bit of my family history, which probably would not otherwise interest them. My father, Captain Middlemore, had been an officer in the English army, but sold out and came to America. Being, I suspect, of a roving disposition, he had travelled through most of the Eastern States without finding any spot where he could make up his MY FATHER REACHES OHIO. 57 mind to settle. At length he bent his steps to Ohio; in the western part of which he had one night to seek shelter from a storm at the farm of a substantial settler, a Mr. Ralph Crockett (the father of Uncle Jeff). Mr. Crockett treated the English stranger with a hospitality which the farmers of Oh...

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The story of Elizabeth, with other tales and sketches

Cover Title: Miss Thackeray's works. Elizabeth, Old friends, etc The story of Elizabeth--Five old friends.--Out of the world, and To Esther

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tales of a time and place

Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: MADRILENE; OR, THE FESTIVAL OF THE DEAD. OTHING was silent about the old cemetery but the dead themselves— nothing respectable; all the noises and confusions that had harassed them in life were here to harrow the atmosphere above their rest in death ; all the mould and ugliness of an undergrowth population, which their living feet had avoided, lay thick and fetid all round about the walls ramparted with tombs that enclosed them now. The city had grown densely around the cemetery, but the houses had backed up or sidled up, as it were, not caring to face their grim neighbor. Those which by necessity did face it had the aspect of houses accustomed to look at worse things in life than death—houses that had not enjoyed the sad privilege of falling from a higher estate or disappointing .hopeful prospects, but which had been preordained from the beginning to degradation and ostracism. A broad space had been left in front by the city ancestors for some beautiful boulevard or funeral parade-ground, but it had become an unsightly waste, a " common" for street children, a lounging-place for social refuse, a medium for back-door convivialities and intrigues, a dumping-ground for unmagazinable traffic, and the lower end of it the landing-wharf for a schooner fleet, which discharged daily cargoes of lumber, brick, and charcoal onto the frazzled grass, and daily crews of negroes, " dagos," and roughs into the ill-favored coffee-houses at the corners. Up in the air the thin fine spars of the vessels could be seen coming in from the distance along the invisible canal, gliding into and out of occul- tation, past trees and houses and open garden spots, and past the cemetery. And sometimes they seemed sailing or being cordelled straight through the cemetery; and then, by a fancy, ...

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mission tales in the days of the dons

CONTENTS Mission Bells In the Days of the Padres A Story of San Juan Capistrano The Ride of the Neophytes Matilija Concepción Agüella The Story of Little Rossiya The Penance Bell of Los Angeles Wana and Ahzi-Papoose Pirate Joe Dos Hermanas (The Two Sisters) Terésa, the Popeloutechom Neophyte El Molino Viéjo (The Old Mill)

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4 page of 100 pages

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