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The Withered Arm
THOMAS HARDY A Lorn Milkmaid It was an eighty-c...

Remarkable Instances Of The Power Of Vision
A shepherd upon one of the mountains in Cumberland, w...

The Lady Of The Black Tower
BY MRS. ROBINSON. "Watch no more the twinkling...

The Lost Cheque
Mr. A., a barrister, sat up one night to write letters,...

The Spook House
On the road leading north from Manchester, in easte...

"put Out The Light!"
The Rev. D. W. G. Gwynne, M.D., was a physician in holy...

Footnote:
[2] Since the publication of the first edition "Hasting...

The Spook Of Diamond Island
(St. Louis _Globe-Democrat_, Sept. 18, 1888) HARDEN,...

The Leaden Ring
"It is not possible, Julia. I cannot conceive how the...

Clarimonde
THEOPHILE GAUTIER Brother, you ask me if I have ev...





Black Spirits And White






No 252 Rue M Le Prince
When in May, 1886, I found myself at last in Paris, I naturally determined to throw myself on the charity of an old chum of mine, Eugene Marie d'Ardeche, who had forsaken Boston a year or more ago on receiving word of the ...

In Kropfsberg Keep
To the traveller from Innsbrueck to Munich, up the lovely valley of the silver Inn, many castles appear, one after another, each on its beetling cliff or gentle hill,--appear and disappear, melting into the dark fir trees ...

The White Villa
When we left Naples on the 8.10 train for Paestum, Tom and I, we fully intended returning by the 2.46. Not because two hours time seemed enough wherein to exhaust the interests of those deathless ruins of a dead civilizati...

Sister Maddelena
Across the valley of the Oreto from Monreale, on the slopes of the mountains just above the little village of Parco, lies the old convent of Sta. Catarina. From the cloister terrace at Monreale you can see its pale walls a...

Notre Dame Des Eaux
West of St. Pol de Leon, on the sea-cliffs of Finisterre, stands the ancient church of Notre Dame des Eaux. Five centuries of beating winds and sweeping rains have moulded its angles, and worn its carvings and sculpture do...

The Dead Valley
I have a friend, Olof Ehrensvaerd, a Swede by birth, who yet, by reason of a strange and melancholy mischance of his early boyhood, has thrown his lot with that of the New World. It is a curious story of a headstrong boy a...