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Algernon Blackwood Anthony Hope Anthony Trollope Anton Chekhov Arthur Conan Doyle Arthur Quiller-Couch Baroness Orczy Benjamin Disraeli Charles Dickens Dinah Craik E. Phillips Oppenheim Edith Wharton Elizabeth Gaskell Eugene Sue F. Marion Crawford G.A. Henty G.K. Chesterton George Gissing George Meredith Gertrude Atherton H. Rider Haggard H.G. Wells Hamlin Garland Henry James Honore de Balzac Horatio Alger Ivan Turgenev Jack London James Fenimore Cooper Joseph Conrad L. Frank Baum L.M. Montgomery Louisa May Alcott Luise Mühlbach Mrs. Humphry Ward Mrs. Oliphant P.G. Wodehouse Robert Louis Stevenson Sax Rohmer Thomas Hardy Upton Sinclair W. Somerset Maugham Walter Besant Wilkie Collins William Dean Howells William Makepeace Thackeray Brantz Mayer A.T. Mahan Adolf Hitler Agatha Christie Albert Jay Nock Alexandre Dumas Andrew Lang Ann Radcliffe Anne Brontë Anonymous Aristotle Bible Book Booker T. Washington Bram Stoker Brooks Adams Captain Russell Grenfell Cesare Lombroso Charles Callan Tansill Charles Darwin Charlotte Brontë Clark Howard Confucius David Gordon David Howden David Irving David Ray Griffin E.A. Ross Eden Phillpotts Edgar Allan Poe Edward Bellamy Edward Gibbon Elbert Hubbard Ellsworth Huntington Emile Zola Emily Brontë Evan Whitton Evelyn Dewey F. Scott Fitzgerald Fanny Burney Faustino Ballvé Felix Adler Ford Madox Ford Francis Parkman Frank Chodorov Frank Norris Frank R. Stockton Frederick Jackson Turner Friedrich A. Hayek Friedrich Engels Fyodor Dostoyevsky G.E. Mitton George Eliot George Jean Nathan Gustav Gottheil Gustave Flaubert Guy de Maupassant H.L. Mencken Hans-Hermann Hoppe Harriet Beecher Stowe Harry Elmer Barnes Heinrich Graetz Heinrich Heine Henry Adams Henry Fielding Henry Ford Henry M. Stanley Henryk Sienkiewicz Herbert Westbrook Herman Melville Hermann Hesse Herodotus Homer Hubert Howe Bancroft Hugh Lofting Isabel Paterson J.M. Barrie Jacob A. Riis James Hayden Tufts James Huneker James Joyce James Rice Jane Addams Jane Austen Jared Taylor Jefferson Davis Jeffrey Tucker John Dewey John Dos Passos John Galsworthy John Maynard Keynes John Reed John Stuart Mill John T. Flynn Jonathan Swift Jules Verne Karl Marx Kenneth Grahame Kevin Barrett Kevin MacDonald Knut Hamsun Laurence Sterne Lawrence H. White Leo Tolstoy Leon Trotsky Lewis Carroll Livy Llewellyn H. Rockwell Jr. Lord Acton Lord Dunsany Lothrop Stoddard Ludwig von Mises Lysander Spooner Marcel Proust Maria Edgeworth Maria Monk Mark Twain Mary Shelley Mary White Ovington Max Eastman Max Nordau Maxim Gorky Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra Mungo Park Murray N. Rothbard Nathaniel Hawthorne Niccolò Machiavelli O. Henry Oscar Wilde Paul Craig Roberts Per Bylund Plato Plutarch Ralph Franklin Keeling Richard Francis Burton Richard Lovell Edgeworth Richard Lynn Robert Barr Robert S. Griffin Robin Koerner Rose Wilder Lane Rudyard Kipling S. Baring-Gould Saint Augustine Samuel Butler Sigmund Freud Sinclair Lewis Stanley Weinbaum Stefan Zweig Stendhal Stephen Crane Stephen J. Sniegoski Suetonius Tacitus Theodore Canot Theodore Roosevelt Thomas Babington Macaulay Thomas Bulfinch Thomas C. Taylor Thomas Carlyle Thomas Dixon Thomas Jefferson Thomas More Thomas Nelson Page Thomas Paine Thomas Seltzer Thorstein Veblen Thucydides Ulysses S. Grant Van Wyck Brooks Victor Hugo Virginia Woolf W.E.B. Du Bois Walter Lippmann Walter Scott Washington Gladden Wilfred Wilson Willa Cather Willard Huntington Wright William Graham Sumner William H. Prescott William Henry Chamberlin Wilmot Robertson Winston Churchill Winston S. Churchill Woodrow Wilson
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    Anthony Hope

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    HIS “Business Ambassador” was the title which my old chief, Ezekiel Coldston, used to give me. I daresay that it served as well as any other to describe with a pleasant mixture of dignity and playfulness, the sort of glorified bag-man or drummer that I was. It was my job to go into all quarters... Read More
    "Just in time, wasn't it?" asked Mary Arkroyd. "Two days before the—the ceremony! Mercifully it had all been kept very quiet, because it was only three months since poor Gilly was killed. I forget whether you ever met Gilly? My half-brother, you know?" "Only once—in Collingham Gardens. He had an exeat, and dashed in one... Read More
    "Just in time, wasn't it?" asked Mary Arkroyd. "Two days before the—the ceremony! Mercifully it had all been kept very quiet, because it was only three months since poor Gilly was killed. I forget whether you ever met Gilly? My half-brother, you know?" "Only once—in Collingham Gardens. He had an exeat, and dashed in one... Read More
    It was a dark, dank, drizzly morning in March. A dull mist filled all the air, and the rain drifted in a thin sheet across the garden of the Middle Temple. Everything looked a dull drab. Certainly it was a beastly morning. Moreover—to add to its offences—it was Monday morning. Arthur Lisle had always hated... Read More
    "Inkpat!" She shot out the word in a bitter playfulness, making it serve for the climax of her complaints. Hobart Gaynor repeated the word—if it could be called a word—after his companion in an interrogative tone. "Yes, just hopeless inkpat, and there's an end of it!" Mrs. Maxon leant back as far as the unaccommodating... Read More
    "Perhaps you won't believe me," said I, "but till yesterday I never so much as heard of her existence." "I've not the least difficulty in believing you. That was old Nick's way. It wasn't your business—was it?—so he didn't talk to you about it. On the other hand, when a thing was your business—that's to... Read More
    COMMON opinion said that Lord Lynborough ought never to have had a peerage and forty thousand a year; he ought to have had a pound a week and a back bedroom in Bloomsbury. Then he would have become an eminent man; as it was, he turned out only a singularly erratic individual. So much for... Read More
    Common opinion said that Lord Lynborough ought never to have had a peerage and forty thousand a year; he ought to have had a pound a week and a back bedroom in Bloomsbury. Then he would have become an eminent man; as it was, he turned out only a singularly erratic individual. So much for... Read More
    To the eye of an onlooker Captain Dieppe's circumstances afforded high spirits no opportunity, and made ordinary cheerfulness a virtue which a stoic would not have disdained to own. Fresh from the failure of important plans; if not exactly a fugitive, still a man to whom recognition would be inconvenient and perhaps dangerous; with fifty... Read More
    The following narrative falls naturally into three divisions, corresponding to distinct and clearly marked periods of Sophy's life. Of the first and second—her childhood at Morpingham and her sojourn in Paris—the records are fragmentary, and tradition does little to supplement them. As regards Morpingham, the loss is small. The annals of a little maid-servant may... Read More
    The social birth of a family, united by a chain of parallel events with the commercial development of a business, is a spectacle strange to no country but most common among the nation of shopkeepers; it presents, however, interesting points and is likely to produce a group of persons rather diverse in character. Some of... Read More
    The house—a large, plain white building with no architectural pretensions—stood on a high swell of the downs and looked across the valley in which Milldean village lay, and thence over rolling stretches of close turf, till the prospect ended in the gleam of waves and the silver-grey mist that lay over the sea. It was... Read More
    The changeful April morning that she watched from the window of her flat looking over the river began a day of significance in the career of Trix Trevalla—of feminine significance, almost milliner's perhaps, but of significance all the same. She had put off her widow's weeds, and for the first time these three years back... Read More
    An Episode in the Story of an Ancient House
    Mr Jenkinson Neeld was an elderly man of comfortable private means; he had chambers in Pall Mall, close to the Imperium Club, and his short stoutish figure, topped by a chubby spectacled face, might be seen entering that dignified establishment every day at lunch time, and also at the hour of dinner on the evenings... Read More
    A shrunken sallow old lady, dressed in rusty ill-shaped black and adorned with an evidently false 'front' of fair hair, sat in a tiny flat whose windows overlooked Hyde Park from south to north. She was listening to a tall loose-built dark young man who walked restlessly about the little room as he jerked out... Read More
    Before my coronation there was no event in childhood that impressed itself on my memory with marked or singular distinction. My father's death, the result of a chill contracted during a hunting excursion, meant no more to me than a week of rooms gloomy and games forbidden; the decease of King Augustin, my uncle, appeared... Read More
    From the Memoirs of Fritz von Tarlenheim
    A man who has lived in the world, marking how every act, although in itself perhaps light and insignificant, may become the source of consequences that spread far and wide, and flow for years or centuries, could scarcely feel secure in reckoning that with the death of the Duke of Strelsau and the restoration of... Read More
    One who was in his day a person of great place and consideration, and has left a name which future generations shall surely repeat so long as the world may last, found no better rule for a man's life than that he should incline his mind to move in Charity, rest in Providence, and turn... Read More
    A Romance
    ‘QUOT homines tot sententiæ;’ so many men, so many fancies. My fancy was for an island. Perhaps boyhood’s glamour hung yet round sea-girt rocks, and ‘faery lands forlorn,’ still beckoned me; perhaps I felt that London was too full, the Highlands rather fuller, the Swiss mountains most insufferably crowded of them all. Money can buy... Read More
    "Stephen! Stephen! Stephen!" The impatient cry was heard through all the narrow gloomy street, where the old richly-carved house-fronts bowed to meet one another and left for the eye's comfort only a bare glimpse of blue. It was, men said, the oldest street in Strelsau, even as the sign of the "Silver Ship" was the... Read More
    AT first sight they had as little reason for being unhappy as it is possible to have in a world half full of sorrow. They were young and healthy; half a dozen times they had each declared the other more than common good-looking; they both had, and never knew what it was not to have,... Read More
    Cupid, I met thee yesterday With an empty quiver, Coming from Clarinda's house By the reedy river. And I saw Clarinda stand Near the pansies, weeping, With her hands upon her breast All thine arrows keeping. Neither life nor the lawn-tennis club was so full at Natterley that the news of Harry Sterling's return had... Read More
    Countless are the stories told of the sayings that Count Antonio spoke and of the deeds that he did when he dwelt an outlaw in the hills. For tales and legends gather round his name thick as the berries hang on a bush, and with the passage of every succeeding year it grows harder to... Read More
    "I'm so blind," said Miss Ferrars plaintively. "Where are my glasses?" "What do you want to see?" asked Lord Semingham. "The man in the corner, talking to Mr. Loring." "Oh, you won't know him even with the glasses. He's the sort of man you must be introduced to three times before there's any chance of... Read More
    Being a Story Concerning Two Ladies, a Nobleman, and a Necklace
    In accordance with many most excellent precedents, I might begin by claiming the sympathy due to an orphan alone in the world. I might even summon my unguided childhood and the absence of parental training to excuse my faults and extenuate my indiscretions. But the sympathy which I should thus gain would be achieved, I... Read More
    “There’s ingratitude for you!” Miss Dolly Foster exclaimed suddenly. “Where!” I asked, rousing myself from meditation. She pointed to a young man who had just passed where we sat. He was dressed very smartly, and was walking with a lady attired in the height of the fashion. “I made that man,” said Dolly, “and now... Read More
    “I wonder when in the world you’re going to do anything, Rudolf?” said my brother’s wife. “My dear Rose,” I answered, laying down my egg-spoon, “why in the world should I do anything? My position is a comfortable one. I have an income nearly sufficient for my wants (no one’s income is ever quite sufficient,... Read More
    HEIDELBERG seems rather a tourist-ridden, hackneyed sort of place to be the mother of adventures. Nevertheless, it is there that my story begins. I had been traveling on the Continent, and came to Heidelberg to pay my duty to the castle, and recruit in quiet after a spell of rather laborious idleness at Homburg and... Read More
    In his speech at the annual banquet of the Royal Academy in 1894, among many other good things, Mr. Andrew Lang said: "The thrifty plan of giving us sermons, politics, fiction, all in one stodgy sandwich, produces no permanent literature, produces but temporary 'tracts for the times.' Fortunately we have among us many novelists—young ones,... Read More
    A Novel
    In the garden the question was settled without serious difference of opinion. If Sir Robert Perry really could not go on—and Lady Eynesford was by no means prepared to concede even that—then Mr. Puttock, bourgeois as he was, or Mr. Coxon, conceited and priggish though he might be, must come in. At any rate, the... Read More
    A Frivlolous Tale
    The Nestons, of Tottlebury Grange in the county of Suffolk, were an ancient and honourable family, never very distinguished or very rich, but yet for many generations back always richer and more distinguished than the common run of mankind. The men had been for the most part able and upright, tenacious of their claims, and... Read More
    The world considered Eugene Lane a very fortunate young man; and if youth, health, social reputation, a seat in Parliament, a large income, and finally the promised hand of an acknowledged beauty can make a man happy, the world was right. It is true that Sir Roderick Ayre had been heard to pity the poor... Read More
    In the year 1884 the Republic of Aureataland was certainly not in a flourishing condition. Although most happily situated (it lies on the coast of South America, rather to the north—I mustn't be more definite), and gifted with an extensive territory, nearly as big as Yorkshire, it had yet failed to make that material progress... Read More