Literature

It was autumn in London, that blessed season between the harshness of winter and the insincerities of summer; a trustful season when one buys bulbs…

The Doll’s House by Katherine Mansfield WHEN dear old Mrs. Hay went back to town after staying with the Burnells she sent the children a doll’s…

Good little girls ought not to make mouths at their teachers for every trifling offense. This retaliation should only be resorted to under peculiarly aggravated…

The Bet by Anton Chekhov It was a dark autumn night. The old banker was walking up and down his study and remembering how, fifteen…

Egbert came into the large, dimly lit drawing-room with the air of a man who is not certain whether he is entering a dovecote or…

This is a legend current among the South American Indians. God, say they, at first made men so that they had no need to work:…

I am tired. At the end of these years, I am very tired. I have been studying in books the languages of the living and…

Long ago, in ancient China, the emperor of China, his servants, and his most trusted advisers set out into the forest for a hunt. The…

The lawyer had presented a plea of insanity. How could anyone explain this strange crime otherwise? One morning, in the grass near Chatou, two bodies…

To Madame Brillon I received my dear friend’s two letters, one for Wednesday and one for Saturday. This is again Wednesday. I do not deserve…

One autumn I went to spend the hunting season with some friends in a chateau in Picardy. My friends were fond of practical jokes. I…

“I’m writing a poem on Peace,” said Reginald, emerging from a sweeping operation through a tin of mixed biscuits, in whose depths a macaroon or…