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ll the world on his mountain-pile of history and romance. Longfellow, I believe, is not yet at the Oxbow, else the winged horse would neigh at him. But here in Lenox I should find our most truthful novelist [Miss Sedgwick], who has made the scenery and life of Berkshire all her own. On the hither side of Pittsfield sits Herman Melville, shaping out the gigantic conception of his 'White Whale,' while the gigantic shadow of Greylock looms upon him from his study window. Another bound of my flying

a foreign land, father?""Ay, but he will return. His deer are not yet to be slain by your arrows, child. When you are Ranger at Locksley, in your father's stead, who shall then say you nay?" "My father does not shoot the King's deer, except those past their time," answered Robin, quickly. "He tends them, and slays instead any robbers who would maltreat or kill the does. Do you think I could hit yon beast, father? He makes a pretty mark, and my arrow would but prick

is prisoner ahead of him, started for the smoker. It was two cars ahead. The train was vestibuled. The first platform they crossed was tightly enclosed; but at the second Billy saw that a careless porter had left one of the doors open. The train was slowing down for some reason--it was going, perhaps, twenty miles an hour.Billy was the first upon the platform. He was the first to see the open door. It meant one of two things--a chance to escape, or, death. Even the latter was to be preferred to

ied; in which the narrator of the tale finds himself unexpectedly involved both on its ruthless and its delicate side."Falk" shares with one other of my stories ("The Return" in the "Tales of Unrest" volume) the distinction of never having been serialized. I think the copy was shown to the editor of some magazine who rejected it indignantly on the sole ground that "the girl never says anything." This is perfectly true. From first to last Hermann's niece

rmagnac or red Anjou? This was a Burgundy of whichMonsieur le Marquis thought highly, and this a delicate Lombardywine that His Majesty had oft commended. Or perhaps Monsieur deChatellerault would prefer to taste the last vintage of Bardelys?And so they plagued him and bewildered him until his choice wasmade; and even then a couple of them held themselves in readinessbehind his chair to forestall his slightest want. Indeed, had hebeen the very King himself, no greater honour could we have

da,would know what he was doing and that he desiredto communicate with Dorothy. For Glinda has a bigbook in which is recorded every event that takesplace anywhere in the world, just the moment thatit happens, and so of course the book would tellher about the wireless message.And that was the way Dorothy heard that theHistorian wanted to speak with her, and there wasa Shaggy Man in the Land of Oz who knew how totelegraph a wireless reply. The result was thatthe Historian begged so hard to be

During the years he had served as master of fence at the English Court, thesons of royalty had learned to thrust and parry and cut as only De Vaccould teach the art, and he had been as conscientious in the discharge ofhis duties as he had been in his unswerving hatred and contempt for hispupils.And now the English King had put upon him such an insult as might only bewiped out by blood. As the blow fell, the wiry Frenchman clicked his heels together, andthrowing down his foil, he stood erect and

mouth and forked tongue thrust out. I painted the eyes red for anger."'There, stand so!' I said, 'and glare and hiss at my foes.' "In the stern I curved the tail up almost as high as the head. There I put the pilot's seat and a strong tiller for the rudder. On the breast and sides I carved the dragon's scales. Then I painted it all black and on the tip of every scale I put gold. I called her 'Waverunner.' There she sat on the rollers, as fair a ship as I ever saw. "The night that

wolfish hardness that suggested the nomad. He was closer to the basic Turanian rootstock than was the Turk; nearer to the wolfish, wandering Mongols who were his ancestors."Speak, Ak Boga," said the Amir in a deep powerful voice. "Ravens have flown westward, but there has come no word." "We rode before the word, my lord," answered the warrior. "The news is at our heels, traveling swift on the caravan roads. Soon the couriers, and after them the traders and the