This is the story of me, Ana the scribe, son of Meri, and of certain of the days that I have spent upon the earth. These things I have written down now that I am very old in the reign of Rameses, the third of that name, when Egypt is once more strong and

They knew nothing of it in England or all the Western countries in those days before Crecy was fought, when the third Edward sat upon the throne. There was none to tell them of the doom that the East, whence come light and life, death and the decrees of G

The autumn afternoon was fading into evening. It had been cloudy weather, but the clouds had softened and broken up. Now they were lost in slowly darkening blue. The sea was perfectly and utterly still. It seemed to sleep, but in its sleep it still waxed

Hard on twenty years have gone by since that night of Leo's vision-the most awful years, perhaps, which were ever endured by men-twenty years of search and hardship ending in soul-shaking wonder and amazement. My death is very near to me, and of this

The day had been very hot even for the Transvaal, where the days still know how to be hot in the autumn, although the neck of the summer is broken-especially when the thunder-storms hold off for a week or two, as they do occasionally. Even the succulent b

I do not suppose that anyone who knows the name of Allan Quatermain would be likely to associate it with flowers, and especially with orchids. Yet as it happens it was once my lot to take part in an orchid hunt of so remarkable a character that I think it

Allan Quatermain, sequel to King Solomon's Mines and based on Haggard's own experiences in Africa, was written in just ten weeks in 1885. Once more Alan Quatermain and his companions set out for Africa, this time in search of a white race reputed to live north of Mount Kenia. They survive fierce encounters with Masai warriors, undergo a terrifying subterranean journey, and discover a lost civilization before being caught up in a passionate love-triangle that engulfs the country in a ferocious civil war. The text is that of the first English book edition, with the more important corrections...

Beautiful, beautiful was that night! No air that stirred; the black smoke from the funnels of the mail steamer Zanzibar lay low over the surface of the sea like vast, floating ostrich plumes that vanished one by one in the starlight. Benita Beatrix Cliffo

We white people think that we know everything. For instance, we think that we understand human nature. And so we do, as human nature appears to us, with all its trappings and accessories seen dimly through the glass of our conventions, leaving out those a

There lived a man in the south, before Thangbrand, Wilibald's son, preached the White Christ in Iceland. He was named Eric Brighteyes, Thorgrimur's son, and in those days there was no man like him for strength, beauty and daring, for in all these things h