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Humor and overall literary style have changed a lot in the 132 years since this book was published in 1889. However, the information remains informative, primarily because there is a certain amount of truthfulness about it that manages to disregard the passage of time. It takes in some unusual events that either did happen, or could have. It involves three men and a dog that is sometimes smarter than any of them. Between them, they come up with some depth of thought and at least a minor ability to understand human nature.

This book marks an epoch in my literary career. It is written in blood. It is the outpouring of a soul as deeply seared by Fate’s unkindness as the fairway on the dog-leg hole of the second nine was ever seared by my iron. It is the work of a very nearly desperate man, an 18-handicap man who has got to look extremely slippy if he doesn’t want to find himself in the 20s again. 

The words of Kahlil Gibran give his book The Prophet a broad range of inspiration and philosophy. They provide exceptional insight into human desires and understanding. The vivid observations are vibrant with feeling and acceptance of life’s many questions and hopes. One review saluted the story as being untouched by the harshness of life. Gibran’s other two books, The Forerunner and The Madman, are of deep assistance in the same manner. 

French author Jules Verne earned recognition as one of the founders of science-fiction tales. Although, as one of those called “fathers of science fiction”, Verne often said he had not aimed at seeming scientific, claiming, “I have invented nothing." However, he did feel, “Anything one man can imagine, other men can make real.” As one of those “other” men he did exactly that in his marvelous description of Phileas Fogg and his remarkable journey Around the World in Eighty Days, a trip done without any modern transportation.

There were times when Bertie Wooster, the fictional narrator of these stories, was thought of as being at least a trifle feather-brained. However, he had a valet who seemed to know everything about everything. These are among more than 300 short stories written by a man who began a short-lived career in banking after his college days. However, it didn’t take long for P. G. Wodehouse to decide he didn’t like that kind of job, and he began writing in whatever spare time he had.

Shore Road has a bunch of auto thefts outside Bayport, home territory of the Hardy Boys, Frank and Joe. They find out that one of their friends, Jack Dodd and his father, have been accused of the thefts. This bothers the lads because they feel certain there has been a big mistake and they intend to do something about it. As a result of their intentions and investigation the Hardy Boys wind up helping in capture of the actual car thieves who had framed and kidnapped their friends. It’s exciting listening as they work hard to aid the Dodds, father and son.

The author’s birth name was Alan Alexander Milne, but his pen name used only the initials A. A. Milne. He eventually won worldwide acclaim for his renowned youth-oriented stories about Winnie-the-Pooh. However, he tried something different a few years before that, a story based on parental devotion.

The materials of the following collection have been carefully chosen from more than a hundred volumes of the fairy lore of all nations; and none of them, so far as the editor was aware, had been previously translated into English.  

If it had not rained on a certain May morning, Valancy Stirling’s whole life would have been entirely different. She would have gone, with the rest of her clan, to Aunt Wellington’s engagement picnic and Dr. Trent would have gone to Montreal. But it did rain and you shall hear what happened to her because of it. Valancy wakened early, in the lifeless, hopeless hour just preceding dawn. She had not slept very well.

Wallace, a master British storyteller, creates a fascinating tale. It tells of the fictional mystery author, John Lexdale, who is caught in a plot concocted by an unscrupulous millionaire. The fictional author is entrapped in the strange circumstances, becomes charged with murder and sentenced to prison. At one point he is told his wife has been killed and pledges revenge.

Here is a land where a man, to live, must be a man. It is a land of granite and marble, strong stone and gold—and a man’s strength must be as the strength of the primeval hills. It is a land of oaks and cedars and pines—and a man’s mental grace must be as the grace of the untamed trees. It is a land of far-arched and unstained skies, where the wind sweeps free and untainted, and the atmosphere is the atmosphere of those places that remain as God made them—and a man’s soul must be as the unstained skies, the unburdened wind, and the untainted atmosphere.

The fiction world of today needs a “Saint” more than it ever did. For years now that scene has been dominated by the “anti-heroes"—those grim gray operators in a sunless sub-culture where global issues are worked out with totally unemotional pragmatism, those hapless uninspired puppets manipulated and expended by ruthlessly dedicated little brothers of Big Brother. It made morbidly fascinating narrative, but it never gave anyone a lift until it climaxed in the hyper-gadgeted parodies of 007 extravaganzas.

The idea that the extraordinary narrative which has been called the Joyce-Armstrong Fragment is an elaborate practical joke evolved by some unknown person, cursed by a perverted and sinister sense of humor, has now been abandoned by all who have examined the matter. The most macabre and imaginative of plotters would hesitate before linking his morbid fancies with the unquestioned and tragic facts which reinforce the statement. Though the assertions contained in it are amazing and even monstrous, it is nonetheless forcing itself upon the general intelligence that they are true.

The ferry-boat was waiting when Rebecca Flint got off the train with her bag and lunch basket. When she and her small trunk were safely embarked she sat stiff and straight and calm in the ferry-boat as it shot swiftly and smoothly across stream. There was a horse attached to a light country wagon on board, and he pawed the deck uneasily. His owner stood near, with a wary eye upon him, although he was chewing, with as dully reflective an expression as a cow.

In truth the mastery of flying was the work of thousands of men—this man a suggestion and that an experiment, until at last only one vigorous intellectual effort was needed to finish the work. But the inexorable injustice of the popular mind has decided that of all these thousands, one man, and that a man who never flew, should be chosen as the discoverer, just as it has chosen to honor Watt as the discoverer of steam and Stephenson of the steam-engine.

The chief character, Lord Peter Wimsey, goes to the Bellona Club to have a meal with an old friend of his, ninety-year old General Fentiman. In great surprise, he finds the aged man fully dressed by the fire in full rigor mortis. A question arises concerning the time of death and the situation develops into a serious murder investigation. Wimsey sometimes seemed to have a supercilious attitude as a monocled aristocrat and sometimes became a sort of professional detective. His family motto was, “As my whimsy takes me.”

One January day, many years ago, the little town of Hanover, anchored on a windy Nebraska tableland, was trying not to be blown away. A mist of fine snowflakes was curling and eddying about the cluster of low drab buildings huddled on the gray prairie, under a gray sky. The dwelling-houses were set about haphazard on the tough prairie sod; some of them looked as if they had been moved in overnight, and others as if they were straying off by themselves, headed straight for the open plain. None of them had any appearance of permanence, and the howling wind blew under them as well as over them.

The Hardy boys looked at one another regretfully. They had just received a letter from their father, Fenton Hardy, an internationally famous detective, who had been called West but a fortnight previous on a mysterious mission. The letter gave the boys their first inkling of the nature of the case that had summoned their father from Bayport, on the Atlantic coast, to the mining country of Montana.

Frank, age sixteen, and Joe, age fifteen, are confronted with one of their most baffling cases. It becomes truly exciting to follow them as they seek a solution. Will they get it? If so, how? It becomes very exciting to follow them in their efforts as they try to live up to the exceptional detecting abilities of their professional detective father.

The author once worked as a dairy farmer in Canada, but returned to his home in Kent, near London, and became a broadcaster, journalist, novelist, and short story writer.  He specialized in tales of the supernatural and was described as “Unquestioned master of weird atmosphere,” as he told of incredible adventures. He often used first person narrations, as you will hear … and, very likely feel an abnormal phantom presence. Come along … If you dare!