THE symposium of the preceding evening had been a little too much for my nerves. I had a wretched headache, and was desperately drowsy. Instead of going out therefore to spend the e...

THE thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge. You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however,...

I have sent for thee, holy friar;… But ’twas not with the drunken hop… Which is but agony of desire To shun the fate, with which to co… Is more than crime may dare to dre…

The chateau into which my valet had ventured to make forcible entrance, rather than permit me, in my desperately wounded condition, to pass a night in the open air, was one of those pil...

Many years ago, I contracted an intimacy with a Mr. William Legrand. He was of an ancient Huguenot family, and had once been wealthy; but a series of misfortunes had reduced him to want...

THE “Red Death” had long devastated the country. No pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its Avatar and its seal—the redness and the horror of blood. There were s...

“LA MUSIQUE,” says Marmontel, in those “Contes Moraux”* which in all our translations, we have insisted upon calling “Moral Tales,” as if in mockery of their spirit—"la musique est le s...

A wilder’d being from my birth My spirit spurn’d control, But now, abroad on the wide earth, Where wand’rest thou my soul? In visions of the dark night

“Con tal que las costumbres de un autor,” says Don Thomas de las Torres, in the preface to his “Amatory Poems” “sean puras y castas, importo muy poco que no sean igualmente severas sus ...