To-morrow and to-morrow ... a novel

“‘Rise up, rise up, thou Dives, and take again thy gold, And thy women and thy housen as they were to thee of old. It may be grace hath found thee In the furnace where We bound...

“Now tell us what ’t was all about,” Young Peterkin, he cries; And little Wilhelmine looks up With wonder-waiting eyes; “Now tell us all about the war, And what they fought each...

“‘Rise up, rise up, thou Satan, upon the Earth to go, And prove the peace of Dives if it be good or no; For all that he hath planned We deliver to thy hand, As thy skill shall s...

Death is the end of life; ah, why Should life all labour be? Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast, And in a little while our lips are dumb. Let us alone. What is it that will...

Those who had never before heard of Sir Aylmer Lancing or of Deryk are no more likely than I am to forget the excitement of the week that followed Raymond Stornaway’s death. Tha...

A new taste for spreading scares was the only change that I could detect in my hostess. Whereas she had occupied herself before the war by sitting on endless committees, she rea...

On the day after the peace-treaty had been signed, my uncle sent me to make a political survey of England. If it brought no benefit to England or to our paper, it provided me wi...

No doubt, there’s something strikes a balance. Yes, You loved me quite enough, it seems to-night. This must suffice me here. What would one have? In heaven, perhaps, new chances...

“. . . The morrow brought the task. Her eyes were guilty gates, that let him in By shutting all too zealous for their sin: Each sucked a secret, and each wore a mask. But, oh, t...

For remember (this our children shall know: we are too near for that knowledge) Not our mere astonied camps, but Council and Creed and College— All the obese, unchallenged old t...

“. . . They say, the tongues of dying men Enforce attention, like deep harmony; Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain; For they breathe truth, that breathe their...

Maybe that “More Tears!— More Famine and Flame— More Severance and Shock!” Is the order from Fate That the Rider speeds on To pale Europe; and tiredly the pines intone.

Since the first tragedy cast its shadow on the first man, philosophers have taught, in the jargon of their choice, that the past is unalterable, that it is no use crying over sp...

In Seymour Street I could not distinguish the houses on the far side of the road; at the Marble Arch I was unable to see from the one side of the pavement to the other; and I ma...