Category: Poetry
An hour had not quite passed, when, as she sat alone in her little gayly-decorated study, with its walls hung with water-color drawings of her own execution, its tables strewn with poetry and music of her own composition, and her favorite books, and her own lute—her little stu...
“Palsambleu!” the old major exclaimed to himself, as he crossed the Pont Royal; “I have an idea that things have changed a little in three months in ‘Little Provence,’ and that...
3. CHAPTER IV.It was not yet high noon, when, wet from spur to shoulder with mud and spray, bloody with spurring, spotted from head to heel with gory foam-flakes from his jaded horse’s wide-d...
1. CHAPTER II.An hour had not quite passed, when, as she sat alone in her little gayly-decorated study, with its walls hung with water-color drawings of her own execution, its tables strewn w...
5. CHAPTER III.The Noonday was nearly finished. The city was ringing with the surpassing beauty and the matchless voice of the young singer Alice. And Martin Gray’s numerous and powerful frien...
2. CHAPTER III.Throughout that livelong night, the thunder roared and rolled incessantly, and from moment to moment the whole firmament seemed to yawn asunder, showing its inner vaults, sheete...
4. CHAPTER II.Martin Gray’s fortune was made, and ever after was he a firm believer in presentiments, for the Sunrise had in very truth been the making of him. In the midst of his good fortun...
6. CHAPTER IV.We should be seriously grieved if the expression _sage_ of which we made use at the end of the preceding chapter should lead the too credulous reader into a dangerous error.