My friend, Lionel Dacre, lived in the Avenue de Wagram, Paris. His house was that small one, with the iron railings and grass plot in front of it, on …
The idea that the extraordinary narrative which has been called the Joyce-Armstrong Fragment is an elaborate practical joke evolved by some unknown person, cursed by a perverted and sinister …
By Wells Hastings (1878- ) “An’ de next’ frawg dat houn’ pup seen, he pass him by wide.” The house, which had hung upon every word, roared with …
By William James Lampton ( -1917) Of course the Widow Stimson never tried to win Deacon Hawkins, nor any other man, for that matter. A widow doesn’t have …
By Grace MacGowan Cooke (1863- ) A boy in an unnaturally clean, country-laundered collar walked down a long white road. He scuffed the dust up wantonly, for he …
By George Randolph Chester (1869- ) I Just as the stage rumbled over the rickety old bridge, creaking and groaning, the sun came from behind the clouds that …
By O. Henry (1862-1910) When Major Pendleton Talbot, of Mobile, sir, and his daughter, Miss Lydia Talbot, came to Washington to reside, they selected for a boarding place …
By Bret Harte (1839-1902) It had been a day of triumph for Colonel Starbottle. First, for his personality, as it would have been difficult to separate the Colonel’s …
BY FRANK RICHARD STOCKTON (1834-1902) “I tell you, William,” said Thomas Buller to his friend Mr. Podington, “I am truly sorry about it, but I cannot arrange for …
By Henry Cuyler Bunner (1855-1896) “They certainly are nice people,” I assented to my wife’s observation, using the colloquial phrase with a consciousness that it was anything but …
BY RICHARD MALCOLM JOHNSTON (1822-1898) I Mr. Peterson Fluker, generally called Pink, for his fondness for as stylish dressing as he could afford, was one of that sort …