Book of the Day -- from the Full Text Archive

Washington and His Colleagues by Henry Jones Ford

Sun, 05 Feb 2012 00:00:01 PST

Washington was glad to remain at Mount Vernon as long as possible after he
had consented to serve as President, enjoying the life of a country
gentleman, which was now much more suited to his taste than official
employment. He was weary of public duties and the heavy demands upon his
time which had left him with little leisure for his private life at home.
His correspondence during this period gives ample evidence of his extreme
reluctance to reassume public responsibilities. To bring the matter to its
true proportions, it must be remembered that to the view of the times the
new constitution was but the latest attempt to tinker the federal scheme,
and it was yet to be seen whether this endeavor would be any more
successful than previous efforts had been. As for the title of President,
it had already been borne by a number of congressional politicians and had
been rather tarnished by the behavior of some of them. Washington was not
at all eager to move in the matter before he had to, and he therefore
remained on his farm until Congress met, formally declared the result of
the election, …

Original article: Washington and His Colleagues by Henry Jones Ford

Selected English Letters (XV - XIX Centuries) by Various

Sat, 04 Feb 2012 00:00:03 PST

This anthology has been compiled with rather mixed motives. First,
'all for our delight'--a rule that editors sometimes observe, and
occasionally acknowledge; then, with the desire to interest as large
a section of the public as may be. Here is a medley of gay, grave,
frivolous, homely, religious, sociable, refined, philosophic, and
feminine,--something for every mood, and for the proper study
of mankind. We do not hope to satisfy all critics, but we do not
anticipate that we shall please none. Our difficulty has been that
of choice. Many pleasant companions we have had to pass by; to strike
from our list many excellent letters. Those that remain are intended
to present as complete a portrait of the writer as space permits.
Occasionally it was some feature of the age, some nicety of manners,
some contrast in point of view, that obtained inclusion.

Into such an anthology the ordinary reader prefers to dip at random,
looking for old friends or new faces, and has his reward. But if he
is resolute to read letters in …

Original article: Selected English Letters (XV - XIX Centuries) by Various

Woman's Institute Library of Cookery, Vol. 1 by Woman's Institute of Domestic Arts and Sciences

Fri, 03 Feb 2012 00:00:02 PST

The Woman's Institute Library of Cookery consists of five volumes that
cover the various phases of the subject of cookery as it is carried on
in the home. These books contain the same text as the Instruction Papers
of the Institute's Course in Cookery arranged so that related subjects
are grouped together. Examination questions pertaining to the subject
matter appear at the end of each section. These questions will prove
helpful in a mastery of the subjects to which they relate, as they are
the same as those on which students of the Institute are required to
report. At the back of each volume is a complete index, which will
assist materially in making quick reference to the subjects contained
in it.

This volume, which is the first of the set, deals with the essentials of
cookery, cereals, bread, and hot breads. In _Essentials of Cookery_,
Parts 1 and 2, are thoroughly treated the selection, buying, and care of
food, as well as other matters that will lead to familiarity with terms
used in cookery and to efficiency in t…

Original article: Woman's Institute Library of Cookery, Vol. 1 by Woman's Institute of Domestic Arts and Sciences

Air Service Boys in the Big Battle by Charles Amory Beach

Thu, 02 Feb 2012 00:00:04 PST

"How's my head? What do you mean? There's nothing the matter with
my head," and the speaker, who wore the uniform of a French aviator,
glanced up in surprise from the cot on which he was reclining in his
tent near the airdromes that stretched around a great level field,
not far from Paris.

"Oh, isn't there?" questioned Jack Parmly, with a smile. "Then I
beg your pardon for asking, my cabbage! I beg your pardon, Sergeant
Raymond!"

Tom Raymond, whose, chum had addressed him by the military title,
looked curiously at his companion, and smiled at the appellation of
the term cabbage. It was one of the many little tricks picked up by
association with their French flying comrades, of speaking to a
friend by some odd, endearing term. It might be cucumber or rose,
cabbage or cart wheel--the words mattered not, it was the meaning
back of them.

"Say, is anything the matter?" went on Tom, as his ch…

Original article: Air Service Boys in the Big Battle by Charles Amory Beach

Under Fire by Henri Barbusse

Wed, 01 Feb 2012 00:00:03 PST

MONT BLANC, the Dent du Midi, and the Aiguille Verte look across at
the bloodless faces that show above the blankets along the gallery
of the sanatorium. This roofed-in gallery of rustic wood-work on the
first floor of the palatial hospital is isolated in Space and
overlooks the world. The blankets of fine wool--red, green, brown,
or white--from which those wasted cheeks and shining eyes protrude
are quite still. No sound comes from the long couches except when
some one coughs, or that of the pages of a book turned over at long
and regular intervals, or the undertone of question and quiet answer
between neighbors, or now and again the crescendo disturbance of a
daring crow, escaped to the balcony from those flocks that seem
threaded across the immense transparency like chaplets of black
pearls.

Silence is obligatory. Besides, the rich and high-placed who have
come here from all the ends of the earth, smitten by the same evil,
have lost the habit of talking. They have withdrawn into themselves,
to think of t…

Original article: Under Fire by Henri Barbusse

The Age of Invention, A Chronicle of Mechanical Conquest by Holland Thompson

Tue, 31 Jan 2012 00:00:02 PST

This volume is not intended to be a complete record of inventive
genius and mechanical progress in the United States. A bare
catalogue of notable American inventions in the nineteenth
century alone could not be compressed into these pages. Nor is it
any part of the purpose of this book to trespass on the ground of
the many mechanical works and encyclopedias which give technical
descriptions and explain in detail the principle of every
invention. All this book seeks to do is to outline the
personalities of some of the outstanding American inventors and
indicate the significance of their achievements.

Acknowledgments are due the Editor of the Series and to members
of the staff of the Yale University Press particularly, Miss
Constance Lindsay Skinner, Mr. Arthur Edwin Krows, and Miss
Frances Hart--without whose intelligent assistance the book could
not have been completed in time to take its place in the Series.

H. T.

Original article: The Age of Invention, A Chronicle of Mechanical Conquest by Holland Thompson

The Boy Allies with Uncle Sams Cruisers by Ensign Robert L. Drake

Mon, 30 Jan 2012 00:00:03 PST

Frank Chadwick jumped from a chair in the front window and ran toward
the door. A form had swung from the sidewalk along the drive that
marked the entrance to Lord Hasting's London home and at sight of it
Frank had uttered an exclamation. Now, as the figure climbed the
steps, Frank flung open the door.

"Jack!" he exclaimed with outstretched hand. "I feared something had
happened, you have been gone so long and we had heard nothing of you."

"I'm perfectly whole," laughed Jack, grasping his friend's hand. "Why,
I've been gone less than two weeks."

"But you expected to be gone only a day or two."

"That's true, but a fellow can't tell what is going to happen, you
know. I wasn't sure I should find you here when I returned, though."

"You probably wouldn't had you come a day later," …

Original article: The Boy Allies with Uncle Sams Cruisers by Ensign Robert L. Drake

Out of Time's Abyss by Edgar Rice Burroughs

Sun, 29 Jan 2012 00:00:02 PST

Upon the fourth day of September, 1916, he set out with four
companions, Sinclair, Brady, James, and Tippet, to search along
the base of the barrier cliffs for a point at which they might
be scaled.

Through the heavy Caspakian air, beneath the swollen sun, the
five men marched northwest from Fort Dinosaur, now waist-deep
in lush, jungle grasses starred with myriad gorgeous blooms, now
across open meadow-land and parklike expanses and again plunging
into dense forests of eucalyptus and acacia and giant arboreous
ferns with feathered fronds waving gently a hundred feet above
their heads.

About them upon the ground, among the trees and in the air over
them moved and swung and soared the countless forms of Caspak's
teeming life. Always were they menaced by some frightful thing
and seldom were their rifles cool, yet even in the brief time
they had dwelt upon Caprona they had become callous to danger,
so that they swung along laughing and chat…

Original article: Out of Time's Abyss by Edgar Rice Burroughs

Salute to Adventurers by John Buchan

Sat, 28 Jan 2012 00:00:04 PST

I tell of old Virginian ways;
And who more fit my tale to scan
Than you, who knew in far-off days
The eager horse of Sheridan;
Who saw the sullen meads of fate,
The tattered scrub, the blood-drenched sod,
Where Lee, the greatest of the great,
Bent to the storm of God?

I tell lost tales of savage wars;
And you have known the desert sands,
The camp beneath the silver stars,
The rush at dawn of Arab bands,
The fruitless toil, the hopeless dream,
The fainting feet, the faltering breath,
While Gordon by the ancient stream
Waited at ease on death.

And now, aloof from camp and field,
You spend your sunny autumn hours
Where the green folds of Chiltern shield
The nooks of Thames amid the flowers:
You who have borne that name of pride,
In honour clean from fear or stain,
Which Talbot w…

Original article: Salute to Adventurers by John Buchan

The Red Cross Girl by Richard Harding Davis

Fri, 27 Jan 2012 00:00:01 PST

He was almost too good to be true. In addition, the gods
loved him, and so he had to die young. Some people think that
a man of fifty-two is middle-aged. But if R. H. D. had lived
to be a hundred, he would never have grown old. It is not
generally known that the name of his other brother was Peter
Pan.

Within the year we have played at pirates together, at the
taking of sperm whales; and we have ransacked the Westchester
Hills for gunsites against the Mexican invasion. And we have
made lists of guns, and medicines, and tinned things, in case
we should ever happen to go elephant shooting in Africa. But
we weren't going to hurt the elephants. Once R. H. D. shot a
hippopotamus and he was always ashamed and sorry. I think he
never killed anything else. He wasn't that kind of a
sportsman. Of hunting, as of many other things, he has said
the last word. Do you remember the Happy Hunting Ground in
"The Bar Sinister"?--"Where nobody hunts us, and there is
nothing to hunt."