Joseph Sheridan: 198 books

When Mr. Jennings breaks down quite, and beats a retreat from the vicarage, and returns to London, where, in a dark street off Piccadilly, he inhabits a very narrow house, Lady Mary says that he is always perfectly well. I have my own opinion about that. There are degrees of course. We shall see. Mr....

This story of the Irish peerage is written, as nearly as possible, in the very words in which it was related by its "heroine," the late Countess D——, and is therefore told in the first person. My mother died when I was an infant, and of her I have no recollection, even the faintest....

There was some truth in these complimentary speeches. Sir Jekyl was now quite at ease as to the character of his guests, whom he had at first connected with an often threatened attack, which he profoundly dreaded, however lightly he might talk of its chances of success. The host, on the whole, liked...

The Rev. Mr. Jennings is tall and thin. He is middle-aged, and dresses with a natty, old-fashioned, high-church precision. He is naturally a little stately, but not at all stiff. His features, without being handsome, are well formed, and their expression extremely kind, but also shy. I met...

The little town boasts, indeed, a beautiful old church, Gothic, with side-aisles, and an antique stained window, from which gloried saints and martyrs look down, in robes as rich and brilliant as we see now-a-days only upon the kings and queens of our court cards. It has also some fine old monuments...

Stunningly effervescent the book encapsulates moral corruption in the society. Le Fanu has lucratively embellished the story with terror and suspense. Its remarkable poetic sense delicate language and incidents give these tales quite a distinguished place among works of sensational fiction. Absolutely worth reading!

great awe. I was here in the very centre and scene of those occurrences which I had heard recounted at the fireside at home, with so delightful a horror.   My father was an old bachelor of nearly sixty when he married. He had, when a child, seen Judge Harbottle on the bench in his robes and wig a dozen times at least before his death, which took place in 1748, and his appearance made a powerful and unpleasant impression, not only on his imagination, but upon his nerves.  ...

in the original German; but they tell me it is out of print."   "So it is, and has been for some years; but it flatters me as an author to find that you have not forgotten my little book, although," I added, laughing, "ten or twelve years is a considerable time to have managed without it; but I suppose you have been turning the subject over again in your mind, or something has happened lately to revive your interest in it."  ...

pubOne.info thank you for your continued support and wish to present you this new edition. The following paper is written in a female hand, and was no doubt communicated to my much-regretted friend by the lady whose early history it serves to illustrate, the Countess D— — . She is no more— she...

The Wylders and the Brandons share a history of intermarriage, bitter rivalry, villainy, and madness. The wedding of Mark Wylder to his rich and beautiful cousin, Dorcas Brandon, was to inaugurate a harmonious new era at Brandon Hallbut as the ceremony draws near, Mark disappears without trace, leaving...

"When Lust hath conceived, it bringeth forth Sin: and Sin, when it is finished, bringeth forth Death." About sixty years ago, and somewhat more than twenty miles from the ancient town of Chester, in a southward direction, there stood a large, and, even then, an old-fashioned mansion-house....

As a member of the Fireside Poets, a group of five American poets whose work elevated American poetry to a status equal to if not surpassing that of the English poets, Longfellow produced a number of memorable poems including "Paul Revere's Ride," "The Song of Hiawatha," and "Evangeline." In "Evangeline,"...

A dark autumnal night had closed over the old city of Dublin, and the wind was blustering in hoarse gusts through the crowded chimney-stacks—careening desolately through the dim streets, and occasionally whirling some loose tile or fragment of plaster from the house tops. The streets were silent...