Provisional Premium Books
The Sword of the King by Ronald MacDonald
It is matter of no small difficulty and hesitation for a woman to tell a story—in especial, her own story—from the beginning of it even to the end, and to hold, as it were, a straight course throughout. The perplexities, I say, are many, and among them not the least is found in these same words, beginning and end. For where truly his story has its inception, and what will be its ultimate word, might well puzzle the wisest man of this age, or any other.
The Sword of Welleran and Other Stories by Lord Dunsany
Where the great plain of Tarphet runs up, as the sea in estuaries, among the Cyresian mountains, there stood long since the city of Merimna well-nigh among the shadows of the crags. I have never seen a city in the world so beautiful as Merimna seemed to me when first I dreamed of it. It was a marvel of spires and figures of bronze, and marble fountains, and trophies of fabulous wars, and broad streets given over wholly to the Beautiful. Right through the centre of the city there went an avenue fifty strides in width, and along each side of it stood likenesses in bronze of the Kings of all the countries that the people of Merimna had ever known. At the end of that avenue was a colossal chariot with three bronze horses driven by the winged figure of Fame, and behind her in the chariot the huge form of Welleran, Merimna's ancient hero, standing with extended sword. So urgent was the mien and attitude of Fame, and so swift the pose of the horses, that you had sworn that the chariot was instantly upon you, and that its dust already veiled the faces of the Kings. And in the city was a mighty hall wherein were stored the trophies of Merimna's heroes. Sculptured it was and domed, the glory of the art of masons a long while dead, and on the summit of the dome the image of Rollory sat gazing across the Cyresian mountains towards the wide lands beyond, the lands that knew his sword. And beside Rollory, like an old nurse, the figure of Victory sat, hammering into a golden wreath of laurels for his head the crowns of fallen Kings.
The Symbolist Movement in Literature by Arthur Symons
The Symbolist Movement in Literature' by Arthur Symons was a noted work that brought French Revolution to the attention of Anglo-American literary circles. Its first two editions were vital influences on W. B. Yeats and T. S. Eliot—a note that, for nothing else, would assure its historical place with the most important early Modernist criticism.
The Tailor of Gloucester by Beatrix Potter
In the time of swords and periwigs and full-skirted coats with flowered lappets—when gentlemen wore ruffles, and gold-laced waistcoats of paduasoy and taffeta—there lived a tailor in Gloucester.
He sat in the window of a little shop in Westgate Street, cross-legged on a table, from morning till dark.
All day long while the light lasted he sewed and snippeted, piecing out his satin and pompadour, and lutestring; stuffs had strange names, and were very expensive in the days of the Tailor of Gloucester.
The Tale of Ginger and Pickles by Beatrix Potter
Once upon a time there was a village shop. The name over the window was "Ginger and Pickles."
It was a little small shop just the right size for Dolls—Lucinda and Jane Doll-cook always bought their groceries at Ginger and Pickles.
The counter inside was a convenient height for rabbits. Ginger and Pickles sold red spotty pocket-handkerchiefs at a penny three farthings.
They also sold sugar, and snuff and galoshes.
The Tale of Mr. Jeremy Fisher by Beatrix Potter
Once upon a time there was a frog called Mr. Jeremy Fisher; he lived in a little damp house amongst the buttercups at the edge of a pond.
The water was all slippy-sloppy in the larder and in the back passage.
But Mr. Jeremy liked getting his feet wet; nobody ever scolded him, and he never caught a cold!
The Tale of Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle by Beatrix Potter
NCE upon a time there was a little girl called Lucie, who lived at a farm called Little-town. She was a good little girl—only she was always losing her pocket- handkerchiefs!
One day little Lucie came into the farm-yard crying— oh, she did cry so! "I've lost my pocket-handkin! Three handkins and a pinny! Have you seen them, Tabby Kitten?"
THE Kitten went on washing her white paws; so Lucie asked a speckled hen—
"Sally Henny-penny, have you found three pocket-handkins?"
But the speckled hen ran into a barn, clucking—
"I go barefoot, barefoot, barefoot!"
The Tale of Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter
The Tale of Peter Rabbit' is a children's book written and illustrated by Beatrix Potter. This book is about mischievous and disobedient young Peter Rabbit. It proceeds as he is chased about the garden of Mr. McGregor. He escapes and returns home to his mother, who puts him to bed after dosing him with camomile tea. The tale was written for five-year-old Noel Moore, son of Potter's former governess Annie Carter Moore, in 1893.
The Tale of the Spinning Wheel by Elizabeth Cynthia Barney Buel
The spinning-wheel—symbol of the dignity of woman’s labor.—What wealth of memory gathers around the homely implement, homely indeed in the good old sense of the word—because belonging to the home. Home-made and home-spun are honorable epithets, replete with significance, for in them we find the epitome of the lives and labors of our foremothers. The plough and the axe are not more symbolic of the winning of this country from the wilderness, nor the musket of the winning of its freedom, than is the spinning-wheel in woman’s hands the symbol of both.
The Tale of Timmy Tiptoes by Beatrix Potter
Timmy Tiptoes sat out, enjoying the breeze; he whisked his tail and chuckled—"Little wife Goody, the nuts are ripe; we must lay up a store for winter and spring." Goody Tiptoes was busy pushing moss under the thatch—"The nest is so snug, we shall be sound asleep all winter." "Then we shall wake up all the thinner, when there is nothing to eat in spring-time," replied prudent Timothy.
The Tale of Tom Kitten by Beatrix Potter
Once upon a time there were three little kittens, and their names were Mittens, Tom Kitten, and Moppet.
They had dear little fur coats of their own; and they tumbled about the doorstep and played in the dust.
But one day their mother—Mrs. Tabitha Twitchit—expected friends to tea; so she fetched the kittens indoors, to wash and dress them, before the fine company arrived.
The Tales of Mother Goose by Charles Perrault
What virtues do these stories possess that have kept them alive for so long a time? They have to some degree stimulated and nourished qualities of supreme worth in individual and social life. With the young the struggle against greed and falsehood and pride and cowardice is a very real one, and situations in which these homely, fundamental traits are involved are full of interest and seriousness. Again, to mature people the reward of well-doing and the punishment of evil conduct portrayed in these stories are apt to seem too realistic, too much also on the cut-and-dried pattern; but it is far different with children. They have a very concrete sense of right and wrong, and they demand a clear, explicit, tangible outcome for every sort of action. They must have concrete, living examples, with the appropriate outcome of each, set before them.
The Tales of My Wrinkles Tell by Dr. Krishna Saksena
The author, crossing 86 years of her life, looks back through the mist of time. There were timeless moments when she walked out in her youth, finding every day an awakening. Those were simple days, of simple people, few rules yet great achievements. She recounts those incidents that still stand sharp in her memory, people she cannot forget, happenings that show her the way and give shape to her philosophy of life. Interesting incidents and peculiar personalities are sure to catch the attention of all those who go through this book and see the difference between how things are today and how they were not long ago.
Dr. Krishna Saksena’s latest book “The Tales my Wrinkles Tell” is a wonderful collection of stories, reminiscences and discourses, very readable and containing wisdom acquired over a lifetime.
The Talking Deaf Man by Johann Conrad Amman
ow important a Benefit is this? How advantageous is the not hearing supplied by this Art? If Envy, or the detestable greedy Desire of Gain_ could have prevailed with me, I had retained this Art, as lockt up in my own Breast. But alass! How miserable is the condition of the Deaf? How lame and defective is that Speach, which is performed by Signs and Gestures? How little are they capable to receive of those things which concern their eternal Salvation? Who doth not commiserate this sort of Persons? Who can refuse to help them by all means which are possible? For my part, I, by the help of God's Grace, will not only help them, but will make publick and vulgar what is best to be done therein, yea, and have done so already, that they can understand others speaking, even with the softest Voice, or rather whispering.
The Taming of the Shrew by William Shakespeare
The Taming of the Shrew is a comedy by William Shakespeare, believed to have been written between 1590 and 1592. The play begins with a framing device, often referred to as the induction, in which a mischievous nobleman tricks a drunken tinker named Christopher Sly into believing he is actually a nobleman himself.
