By P. G. Wodehouse　　1　In a day in June, at the hour when London moves abroad in quest of lunch, a young man stood at the entrance of the Bandolero Restaurant looking earnestly up Shaftesbury Avenuea large young man in excellent condition, with a pleasant, good-humoured, brown, clean-cut face. He paid no attention to the stream of humanity that flowed past him. His mouth was set and his eyes wore a serious, almost a wistful expression. He was frowning slightly. One would have said that here was a man with a secret sorrow.　William FitzWilliam Delamere Chalmers, Lord Dawlish, had no secret sorrow. All that he was thinking of at that moment was the best method of laying a golf ball dead in fr　

　A sea of mist drifted through the cloud forest: soft, grey, luminescent. On the high ridges the fog showed brighter as the morning sun began to warm and lift the moisture, although in the ravine a cool, soundless dimness still counterfeited a pre-dawn twilight.　mander Cordelia Naismith glanced at her team botanist and adjusted the straps of her biological collecting equipment a bit more fortably before continuing her breathless climb. She pushed a long tendril of fog-dampened copper hair out of her eyes, clawing it impatiently toward the clasp at the nape of her neck. Their next survey area would definitely be at a lower altitude. The gravity of this planet was slightly lower than their ho　

　　William Blake　　　　"Nature does not premeditate; she does not use mathematics; she does not deliberately produce whole patterns, she lets whole patterns produce themselves. Nature does what nature demands; she is beyond blame and responsibility."　　Peter S. StevensPatterns in NatureOne　　Sunday, November 23　　Paradise, Pennsylvania　　3:00 a.m.　　　　The thing Boonie loved most about dumping off Black Bridge was how altogether goddam convenient it was. Take, for example, the traveling time. Even with miniature minefields of ice booby-trapping the backroads of Hellam, he figured ten minutes tops in the old Dodge truck to hump a full load of barrels from there to here....　

　　　　LUCY LOOKS INTO A WARDROBE　　　　ONCE there were four children whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy. This story is about something that happened to them when they were sent away from London during the war because of the air-raids. They were sent to the house of an old Professor who lived in the heart of the country, ten miles from the nearest railway station and two miles from the nearest post office. He had no wife and he lived in a very large house with a housekeeper called Mrs Macready and three servants. (Their names were Ivy, Margaret and Betty, but they do not e into the story much.) He himself was a very old man with shaggy white hair which grew over most of his face as we　

　To William Howells　　　"Praise not the day until evening has e; a woman until she is burnt; a sword until it is tried; a maiden until she is married; ice until it has been crossed; beer until it has been drunk."　VIKING PROVERB　　"Evil is of old date."　ARAB PROVERB　　INTRODUCTION　THE IBN FADLAN MANUSCRIPT REPRESENTS THE earliest known eyewitness account of Viking life and society. It is an extraordinary document, describing in vivid detail events which occurred more than a thousand years ago. The manuscript has not, of course, survived intact over that enormous span of time. It has a peculiar history of its own, and one no less remarkable than the text itself.　...　

　　His mind absorbed the scene before him, so quiet and calm and . . . normal. It was the life he had always wanted, a gathering of family and friends-he knew that they were just that, though the only one he recognized was his dear mother.　　This was the way it was supposed to be. The warmth and the love, the laughter and the quiet times. This was how he had always dreamed it would be, how he had always prayed it would be. The warm, inviting smiles. The pleasant conversation. The gentle pats on shoulders.　　But most of all there was the smile of his beloved mother, so happy now, no more a slave. When she looked at him, he saw all of that and more, saw how proud she was of him, how joyful her l　

　To love, and bear; to hope till Hope creates　From its own wreck the thing it contemplates.　Percy Bysshe Shelley,　Prometheus Unbound　Prologue　False Angels　　JERUSALEM　The wound was their path.　Nathan Lee Swift sat strapped in the belly of the cargo helicopter with a dozen assorted archangels, looking down upon what little remained. The earthquake was visible mostly by what was no longer visible. Cities and villages had simply vanished in puffs of dust. Even his ruins were gone. The map had gone blank.　The air was hot. It was summer. There was no horizon. The sands stretched into haze. He felt chained to the giant beside him, his former professor David Ochs. He had not wanted to leave, now he　

　Neither do they expect trouble with a cargo that is sewn up tight.　Only a privileged few knew exactly when the Kruxator Collection would arrive in the country. That it was due to e to Britain was mon knowledge, and you had only to read a newspaper to discover that March 15th was the day on which the fabled group of paintings and jewellery were to go on display - for two weeks - at the Victoria and Albert Museum.　The Kruxator Collection is called after its founder, the late Niko Kruxator, whose fabulous wealth arose from sources unknown, for he had arrived penniless in the United States at about the time of the Wall Street Crash in October 1929. By the time he died in 1977, most people th　

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSENTHE DRYADby Hans Christian AndersenWE are travelling to Paris to the Exhibition.Now we are there. That was a journey, a flight without magic. Weflew on the wings of steam over the sea and across the land.Yes, our time is the time of fairy tales.We are in the midst of Paris, in a great hotel. Blooming flowersornament the staircases, and soft carpets the floors.Our room is a very cosy one, and through the open balcony doorwe have a view of a great square. Spring lives down there; it has cometo Paris, and arrived at the same time with us. It has come in the...　

Algernon Charles Swinburne, _Chastelard, a tragedy_ . Boston: E.P. Dutton, 1866.ChastelardAlgernon Charles Swinburne1- Page 2-Algernon Charles Swinburne, _Chastelard, a tragedy_ . Boston: E.P. Dutton, 1866.PERSONS.MARY STUART. MARY BEATON. MARY SEYTON. MARYCARMICHAEL. MARY HAMILTON. PIERRE DE BOSCOSEL DECHASTELARD. DARNLEY. MURRAY. RANDOLPH. MORTON.LINDSAY. FATHER BLACK.Guards, Burgesses, a Preacher, Citizens, &c....　

Eugenie Grandetby Honore de BalzacTranslated by Katharine Prescott WormeleyDEDICATIONTo Maria.May your name, that of one whose portrait is the noblest ornamentof this work, lie on its opening pages like a branch of sacredbox, taken from an unknown tree, but sanctified by religion, andkept ever fresh and green by pious hands to bless the house.De Balzac.EUGENIE GRANDETIThere are houses in certain provincial towns whose aspect inspiresmelancholy, akin to that called forth by sombre cloisters, drearymoorlands, or the desolation of ruins. Within these houses there is,perhaps, the silence of the cloister, the barrenness of moors, the...　

Castle Rackrentby Maria EdgeworthWith an Introduction by Anne Thackeray RitchieINTRODUCTIONIThe story of the Edgeworth Family, if it were properly told, should be as long as the ARABIAN NIGHTS themselves; the thousand and one cheerful intelligent members of the circle, the amusing friends and relations, the charming surroundings, the cheerful hospitable home, all go to make up an almost unique history of a county family of great parts and no little character. The Edgeworths were people of good means and position, and their rental, we are told, amounted to nearly L3000 a year. At one time there was some talk of a peerage for Mr. Edgeworth, but he was considered too independent for a peerag