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James Gordon Bennett: We left New York amid the huzzas of friends, who bade us a most affectionate adieu. The passengers are from every section of the Union. There are men of talent and high integrity among us. The emigrants in the Crescent City have never been excelled, always excepting the Pilgrim Fathers. On leaving the Pier, I noticed but two females, who waved their handkerchiefs most gracefully, and imparted their sweetest smiles. -an excerpt

For two years it had been notorious in the square that Sam’l Dickie was thinking of courting T’nowhead’s Bell, and that if Little Sanders Elshioner (which is the Thrums pronunciation of Alexander Alexander) went in for her, he might prove a formidable rival. Sam’l was a weaver in the tenements, and Sanders a coal-carter, whose trade-mark was a bell on his horse’s neck that told when coal was coming. Being something of a public man, Sanders had not, perhaps, so high a social position as Sam’l, but he had succeeded his father on the coal-cart, while the weaver had already tried several trades. It had always been against Sam’l, too, that once when the kirk was vacant he had advised the selection of the third minister who preached for it on the ground that it became expensive to pay a large number of candidates.

Do I know why Tom Donahue is called “Lucky Tom”? Yes, I do; and that is more than one in ten of those who call him so can say. I have knocked about a deal in my time, and seen some strange sights, but none stranger than the way in which Tom gained that sobriquet, and his fortune with it. For I was with him at the time. Tell it? Oh, certainly; but it is a longish story and a very strange one; so fill up your glass again, and light another cigar, while I try to reel it off. Yes, a very strange one; beats some fairy stories I have heard; but it’s true, sir, every word of it. There are men alive at Cape Colony now who’ll remember it and confirm what I say. Many a time has the tale been told round the fire in Boers’ cabins from Orange state to Griqualand; yes, and out in the bush and at the diamond-fields too.

The 10:15 train glided from Paddington May 7, 1847. In the left compartment of a certain first-class carriage were four passengers; of these two were worth description. The lady had a smooth, white, delicate brow, strongly marked eyebrows, long lashes, eyes that seemed to change colour, and a good-sized, delicious mouth, with teeth as white as milk. A man could not see her nose for her eyes and mouth; her own sex could, and would have told us some nonsense about it. She wore an unpretending grayish dress, buttoned to the throat with lozenge-shaped buttons, and a Scottish shawl that agreeably evaded colour.

Frequently I have to ask myself in the street for the name of the man I bowed to just now, and then, before I can answer, the wind of the first corner blows him from my memory. I have a theory, however, that those puzzling faces, which pass before I can see who cut the coat, all belong to club waiters.

The present book ‘Stories by English Authors: The Orient’ is a compandium of six best works of six of the most famous and critically acclaimed writers in the English language, including Rudyard Kipling, Miss Mitford, RK Douglas, Mary Beaumont, Morley Roberts and Netta Syrett.

The man whose story is here to be told was the wealthiest and most influential person in his parish; his name was Thord Overaas. He appeared in the priest’s study one day, tall and earnest.

“I have gotten a son,” said he, “and I wish to present him for baptism.”

“What shall his name be?”

“Finn,—after my father.”

“And the sponsors?”

Now we are about to begin, and you must attend; and when we get to the end of the story, you will know more than you do now about a very wicked hobgoblin. He was one of the worst kind; in fact he was a real demon. One day he was in a high state of delight because he had invented a mirror with this peculiarity, that every good and pretty thing reflected in it shrank away to almost nothing. On the other hand, every bad and good-for-nothing thing stood out and looked its worst. The most beautiful landscapes reflected in it looked like boiled spinach, and the best people became hideous, or else they were upside down and had no bodies.

The present book ‘Stories from Tagore’ is a collection of celebrated classic Indian writer, poet, philosopher Rabindranath Tagore, translated in English to introduce children to best of the Indian literature. this volume was first produced and published in the year 1918.

First published in the year 1915, the present book ‘Stories of Later American History’ was written by Wilbur F. Gordy. This book was written purposely to provide a compendium of the later history of America for the students of Grade V as per the material provided by the concerned governmental authorities.

Included in this collection are The Ghost – William D. O’Connor, The Four-Fifteen Express – Amelia B. Edwards, The Signal-Man – Charles Dickens, The Haunted Ships – Allan Cunningham, A Raft That No Man Made – Robert T.S. Lowell, The Invisible Princess – Francis O’Connor, The Advocate’s Wedding-Day – Catherine Crowe, and The Birthmark -Nathaniel Hawthorne.

stories of Robin Hood in a lively retelling that chronicles the events of the time in which Robin Hood lived. Describes how and why he came to live in the Green Wood, and the adventures he had there with Little John, Maid Marian, and the Sheriff of Nottingham. Selections from the original ballads are woven into the story. A delightful introduction to these stories for children ages 8 and up

First published in the year 1882, the present book ‘Stories of the Days of King Arthur’ is a collection of historical fictional tales based on the adventures and life of King Arthur from the medieval history written by famous writer Charles Henry Hanson.

This great grey city that bred me and mine—
Supreme, mysterious, dirty and divine—
Is made up all of contrast, light and gloom.
It has green hills and parks where flowers bloom;
And shadowed pathways where young lips are shy
And warm hands tangle while the night slips by;
Deserts of humble brick, resigned and drear;
And crowded taverns, full of noise and beer;
Thronged streets where jostle theatre and hotel,
And stately terraces where rich folk dwell….
It has black alleys, and most dismal plains
Crossed by long, steady, fire-emitting trains;
Foul slums and palaces, prisons and spires
And suburbs where the jaundiced clerk expires.