Steering, of New York Old Bernique, of French St. Louis

"What time is it?" inquired Dame Hansen, shaking the ashes from her pipe, the last curling rings from which were slowly disappearing between the stained rafters overhead. "

The reader should grasp clearly the date at which this book was written. It was done in 1907: it appeared in various magazines as a serial in 1908 and it was published in the Fall of that year. At th

There is probably neither in Europe nor anywhere else a scholar whose face is more universally known than that of Dr. Schwaryencrona, of Stockholm. His portrait appears on the millions of bottles wit

THE place is France.The time is autumn, in the year eighteen hundred and seventy--the year of the war between France and Germany.The persons are, Captain Arnault, of the French army; Surgeon Surville

In the days when New York's traffic moved at the pace of thedrooping horse-car, when society applauded Christine Nilsson at theAcademy of Music and basked in the sunsets of the Hudson RiverSchool on

“She was BAD . . . always. They used to meet at the Fifth Avenue Hotel,” said my mother, as if the scene of the offence added to the guilt of the couple whose past she was reveali

It was not long after sunrise, and Stephen Waterman, fresh from his dip in the river, had scrambled up the hillside from the hut in the alder-bushes where he had made his morning toilet. An early abl

One afternoon, at low water, Mr. Isbister, a young artist lodging at Boscastle, walked from that place to the picturesque cove of Pentargen, desiring to examine the caves there. Halfway down the prec

Nelly O'Neill had her day in those earlier and quieter reaches of the Victorian era when the privilege of microscopic biography was reserved for the great and the criminal classes, and when the Bohem

“Then Mr Maston, you pretend that a woman has never been able to make mathematical or experimental-science progress?” “To my extreme regret, I am obliged to, Mrs. Scorbi

To Mr. F. R. Starr, Engineer, 30 Canongate, Edinburgh. IF Mr. James Starr will come to-morrow to the Aberfoyle coal-mines, Dochart pit, Yarrow shaft, a communication of an interesting nature will be

My name is John Brenwalter. My father, a drunkard, had a patent for an invention, for making coffee-berries out of clay; but he was an honest man and would not himself engage in the manufacture.

This Essay first appeared in the ninth volume of the ‘Journal of the Linnean Society,’ published in 1865. It is here reproduced in a corrected and, I hope, clearer form, with some

The word “Religion” may be, and has been, employed in many different senses, and with a perplexing width of significance. No attempt to define the word is likely to be quite satis