Bøger af William Henry Giles Kingston

This scarce antiquarian book is a facsimile reprint of the original. Due to its age, it may contain imperfections such as marks, notations, marginalia and flawed pages. Because we believe this work is culturally important, we have made it available as part of our commitment for protecting, preserving, and promoting the world's literature in affordable, high quality, modern editions that are true to the original work.

Picture a wide, gently undulating expanse of land covered with tall grass, over which, as it bends to the breeze, a gleam of light ever and anon flashes brightly. It is a rolling prairie in North America, midway between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. On either hand the earth and sky seem to unite, without an object to break the line of the horizon, except in the far distance, where some tall trees, by a river's side, shoot up out of the plain, but appear no higher than a garden hedge-row. It is truly a wilderness, which no wise man would attempt to traverse without a guide.

The day arrived. A post-chaise stood in front of the old grey manor-house. I have it all before me. The pointed gables-the high-pitched, dark weather; stained roof-the numberless latticed windows-the moat, now dry, which had once served to keep out a body of Cromwell's horse-the tall elms, which had nestled many a generation of rooks-the clump of beech trees, and the venerable wide-spreading oak-the broad gravelled court on one side, and the velvety lawn on the other, sloping away down to the fine, large, deep fish-pond, whose waters, on which I had obtained my first nautical experiences, as seen through the green foliage, were sparkling brighter than ever under the deep blue of the summer sky.

The Fortunes Of The Ranger And Crusader is a novel written by William Henry Giles Kingston and published in 1872. The story follows the adventures of two ships, the Ranger and the Crusader, and the passengers and crews aboard them. The Ranger is a merchant ship carrying goods to various ports around the world, while the Crusader is a naval vessel on a mission to protect British interests in foreign waters. The novel is set in the mid-19th century and takes the reader on a journey through various ports and countries, including India, China, and Australia. Along the way, the crews and passengers of both ships encounter a series of challenges and obstacles, including storms, pirates, and mutiny. The main characters of the novel include the captains of both ships, as well as several passengers and crew members. The story explores their relationships and interactions as they work together to overcome the various challenges they face. Overall, The Fortunes Of The Ranger And Crusader is a thrilling adventure story that offers a glimpse into the world of 19th-century maritime travel and exploration. It is a classic work of historical fiction that is sure to captivate readers of all ages.This scarce antiquarian book is a facsimile reprint of the old original and may contain some imperfections such as library marks and notations. Because we believe this work is culturally important, we have made it available as part of our commitment for protecting, preserving, and promoting the world's literature in affordable, high quality, modern editions, that are true to their original work.

In his Highland manse, far away among the hills, where he had dwelt as pastor for many years over a wayward flock, Donald Morrison lay on a sick-bed. The same fever which had carried off his dear wife a few weeks before, had now stricken him down. He knew that he was dying. As far as he himself was concerned he was willing to yield up his spirit to his Maker; but what would become of his motherless children, his sweet young Margaret, and his two boys, Donald and David, their principles unformed, and ignorant of the evils of the world?

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"Where are you going, Archy?" asked Maggie Hughson, as she ran after her brother, who was stealing away from the house, evidently not wishing to be intercepted.

A traveller was making his way through the Black Forest in Germany. A pack was on his back, of a size which required a stout man to carry it, and a thick staff was in his hand. He had got out of his path by attempting to make a short cut, and in so doing had lost his way, and had been since wandering he knew not where. Yet he was stout of heart, as of limb, and a night spent in the depths of the forest would have concerned him but little had he not set a value upon time. "I have lost so much in my days of ignorance and folly," he kept saying, "that I must make up by vigilance what has been thus misspent. I wish that I had known better. However, I am now ready to spend all, and be spent in the work of the Good Master I serve." The ground was uneven, his load heavy, and the weather warm. Still he trudged bravely on, consoling himself by giving forth, in rich full tones, a hymn of Hans Sachs of Nuremburg, the favourite poet of Protestant Germany in those days.

This scarce antiquarian book is a facsimile reprint of the original. Due to its age, it may contain imperfections such as marks, notations, marginalia and flawed pages. Because we believe this work is culturally important, we have made it available as part of our commitment for protecting, preserving, and promoting the world's literature in affordable, high quality, modern editions that are true to the original work.

A heavy gale was blowing, which shook the windows of the little drawing-room in which Mrs Graybrook and her daughter Hannah were seated at their work. Their cottage was situated close to the sea on the north coast of Wales, so that from it, on a clear day, many a tall ship bound for Liverpool, or sailing from that port, could be seen through the telescope which stood ever ready pointed across the water. A lamp burning on the table, for it was night, shed its light on the comely features and matronly figure of the elder lady, as she busily plied her needle, while it showed that those of Hannah, a fair and interesting-looking girl just growing into womanhood, were unusually pale. Every now and then she unconsciously let her work drop on her lap while, with her eyes turned towards the window and lips apart, she seemed to be listening for some sound which her mother's ear had not noticed.

Michael Penguyne: Or Fisher Life On The Cornish Coast is a novel written by William Henry Giles Kingston and published in 1873. The story is set in a small fishing village on the Cornish coast and follows the life of Michael Penguyne, a young fisherman who is struggling to make ends meet. Despite the hardships he faces, Michael remains optimistic and determined to succeed.The novel explores the challenges faced by the fishing community, including the dangers of the sea, the harsh living conditions, and the competition among fishermen. It also delves into the personal relationships and conflicts within the village, including Michael's love for a young woman named Mary.Throughout the book, Kingston vividly describes the rugged beauty of the Cornish coast and the daily routines of the fishermen. He also provides insight into the customs and traditions of the community, including their superstitions and beliefs.Overall, Michael Penguyne: Or Fisher Life On The Cornish Coast is a compelling and insightful portrayal of life in a small fishing village in the 19th century. It offers a glimpse into a bygone era and the struggles and triumphs of the people who lived there.This scarce antiquarian book is a facsimile reprint of the old original and may contain some imperfections such as library marks and notations. Because we believe this work is culturally important, we have made it available as part of our commitment for protecting, preserving, and promoting the world's literature in affordable, high quality, modern editions, that are true to their original work.

Some time after the termination of the long war which England had waged in the cause of liberty when well-nigh all the world was up in arms against her, my father, Captain Patrick Loraine, having served for many years as a subaltern, believing that he should no longer find employment for his sword, sold out of the army, and with the proceeds of his commission in his pocket, quitting the old country, came to the United States in the hopes of making his fortune more rapidly than he could expect to do at home. Finding that as a British officer he was looked upon with distrust in the Eastern States, he made his way westward until he finally located himself in Illinois on a fertile spot, sheltered on the north by a wide extent of forest, and overlooking that part of the river Ohio which separates the state from Kentucky. I remember even now the appearance of the country. On the eastern side was a range of hills of slight elevation, on one of which our house stood, while westward stretched away as far as the eye could reach, a vast plain, with the mighty Mississippi beyond. The scenery could boast of no great beauty except such as lofty trees, the prairie, with its varied tints of green and brown, yellow cornfields, rich meadows in the valleys, and the shining river in the distance, canopied by the blue vault of heaven, could give it. Still, it was my home, and as such I should have loved it, had it possessed even less pretensions to beauty.

In the far western wilds of North America, over which the untutored red-skinned savage roams at liberty, engaged throughout life in war or the chase, by the side of a broad stream which made its way towards a distant lake, an old man and a boy reclined at length beneath a wigwam, roughly formed of sheets of birch-bark placed against several poles stuck in the ground in a circular form, and fastened together at the top. The sun was just rising above a wood, composed of maple, birch, poplar, and willow, fringing the opposite bank of the river; while rocky hills of no great elevation formed the sides of the valley, through which the stream made its way. Snow rested on the surrounding heights, and the ground was crisp with frost. The foliage which still clung to the deciduous trees exhibited the most gorgeous colours, the brightest red, pink, yellow, and purple tints contrasting with the sombre hues of the pines covering the lower slopes of the hills.

We belong to a Cornish family of the greatest respectability and high antiquity-so say the county records, in which we have every reason to place the most unbounded confidence. The Tregellins have possessed the same estate for I do not know exactly how long; only I suppose it must have been some time after Noah disembarked from the ark, and, at all events, for a very long time.

Have any of you made a passage on board a steamer between London and Leith? If you have, you will have seen no small number of brigs and brigantines, with sails of all tints, from doubtful white to decided black-some deeply-laden, making their way to the southward, others with their sides high out of the water, heeling over to the slightest breeze, steering north.

"Are you better, mother, to-day?" asked little Peter, as he went up to the bed on which Widow Gray lay, in a small chamber of their humble abode. "I trust so, my boy," she answered, in a doubtful tone, as she gazed fondly on the ruddy, broad, honest face of her only child, and put aside the mass of light hair which clustered curling over his brow, to imprint on it a loving kiss. "I tried to get up to help Betsy when she came to tidy the house, but did not feel strong enough; and the doctor, who looked in soon after, said I had better stay quiet, and gave me some stuff which I trust may do me good. Betsy kindly stopped and put everything to rights, but since she went I have felt lonely, and have been longing for you to come home."

"Well, Thudicumb, I hope by noon we may at last get a glimpse of the sun," said Captain Davenport to his first officer, as they walked the deck of the Bussorah Merchant, homeward bound from the East Indies, and at that time rolling on over the long heaving seas of the Atlantic. The sky was overcast, but ever and anon a gleam of light burst forth amid the clouds, playing on the foaming crest of a wave. It was blowing hard, but had evidently been blowing much harder, of which fact the condition of the Indiaman gave evidence. A portion of the starboard bulwarks were stove in, one of her quarter boats was shattered, and other slight damages were visible.

On the east coast of England, there is a small hamlet surrounded by high sand-hills, with scarcely a blade of grass or even a low shrub to be seen in its neighbourhood. The only vegetable productions, indeed, which can flourish in that light soil, are the pale green rushes, whose roots serve to bind the sand together, and to prevent the high easterly winds, so constantly blowing on that coast, affecting it as much as they would otherwise do. Even in spite of the opposition of the rushes, several deserted huts have been almost entirely covered up by the drifting sand.

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Jack began his story thus: Of course you've heard of Donnybrook Fair, close to the city of Dublin. What a strange scene it was, to be sure, of uproar and wild confusion-of quarrelling and fighting from beginning to end-of broken heads, of black eyes, and bruised shins-of shouting, of shrieking and swearing-of blasphemy and drunkenness in all its forms of brutality. Ay, and as I've heard say, of many a deed of darkness, not omitting murder, and other crimes not less foul and hateful to Him who made this beautiful world, and gave to man a religion of love and purity. There the rollicking, roaring, bullying, fighting, harum-scarum Irishman of olden days had full swing for all the propensities and vile passions which have ruined him at home, and gained him a name and a fame not to be envied throughout the world. Often have I wondered whether, had a North American Indian, or a South-Sea Islander, visited the place, he could have been persuaded that he had come to a land of Christian men. Certainly an angel from heaven would have looked upon the assemblage as a multitude of Satan's imps let loose upon the world. They tell me that the fair and its bedevilments have pretty well been knocked on the head. I am glad of it, though I have never again been to the spot from the day of which I am about to speak.

The Seven Champions of Christendom is a novel written by William Henry Giles Kingston in 1879. The story is set in medieval Europe and follows the adventures of seven legendary heroes who are chosen by King St. George to defend Christendom against its enemies. The seven champions are Guy of Warwick, Bevis of Hampton, Sabra of Jerusalem, St. Denis of France, St. James of Spain, St. Anthony of Italy, and St. Andrew of Scotland.The novel is divided into seven parts, each telling the story of one of the champions. The first part introduces Guy of Warwick, a young English knight who sets out on a quest to win the hand of his beloved Felice. Along the way, he faces many challenges and battles, including a fight with a giant and a dragon.The subsequent parts of the novel follow the adventures of Bevis of Hampton, Sabra of Jerusalem, St. Denis of France, St. James of Spain, St. Anthony of Italy, and St. Andrew of Scotland. Each champion faces their own set of challenges and battles, but all are united in their mission to defend Christendom against its enemies.The Seven Champions of Christendom is a classic adventure novel that combines elements of romance, chivalry, and heroic action. It is a timeless tale of bravery and honor that continues to captivate readers today.This scarce antiquarian book is a facsimile reprint of the old original and may contain some imperfections such as library marks and notations. Because we believe this work is culturally important, we have made it available as part of our commitment for protecting, preserving, and promoting the world's literature in affordable, high quality, modern editions, that are true to their original work.

Lance Loughton and Emery Dulman were brought up together at Elmerston Grammar-School. They were both in the upper or sixth form; but Lance was nearly at the head, while Emery was at the bottom, of the form. They were general favourites, though for different causes. Lance was decidedly best liked by the masters. He was steady, persevering, and studious, besides being generous, kind-hearted, and brave-ever ready to defend the weak against the strong, while he would never allow a little boy to be bullied by a big one if he could help it. Emery had talents, but they were more showy than solid. He was good-natured and full of life and spirits, and having plenty of money, spent it freely. He was, however, easily led, and had in consequence done many foolish things, which got him into trouble, though he managed, on the whole, to maintain a tolerably good character.

The glorious sun rose in undimmed splendour on a morning in the early part of the fourth century over everlasting Rome, his rays glancing on countless temples, statues, columns, and towers, on long lines of aqueducts and other public edifices, and on the proud mansions of the patricians which covered the slopes and crowned the summits of her seven hills.

The stout trading brig Amity, Samuel Mudge master and part owner, was gliding up Plymouth Sound on a summer's evening towards her accustomed berth in Catwater, a few years before the termination of the last war between England and France. She had no pilot on board; indeed, her crew averred that the old craft could find the way in and out of the harbour by herself; at all events, her master knew it better than most men trading from the port, as did his young mate, Ralph Michelmore. The last rays of the setting sun were glancing on the topgallant mast-heads of the brig when her anchor was dropped, and by the time her sails were furled and all was made snug the gloom of night had settled down on the Pool, and twinkling lights began to appear from the houses on shore.

Lance Loughton and Emery Dulman were brought up together at Elmerston Grammar-School. They were both in the upper or sixth form; but Lance was nearly at the head, while Emery was at the bottom, of the form. They were general favourites, though for different causes. Lance was decidedly best liked by the masters. He was steady, persevering, and studious, besides being generous, kind-hearted, and brave-ever ready to defend the weak against the strong, while he would never allow a little boy to be bullied by a big one if he could help it. Emery had talents, but they were more showy than solid. He was good-natured and full of life and spirits, and having plenty of money, spent it freely. He was, however, easily led, and had in consequence done many foolish things, which got him into trouble, though he managed, on the whole, to maintain a tolerably good character.

My father, Richard Truscott, was boatswain of the Royal George, one of the finest ships in the navy. I lived with mother and several brothers and sisters at Gosport. Father one day said to me, "Ben, you shall come with me, and we'll make a sailor of you. Maybe you'll some day walk the quarter-deck as an officer." I did not want to go to sea, and I did not care about being an officer; indeed I had never thought about the matter, but I had no choice in it. I was but a very little chap, and liked playing at marbles, or "chuck penny," in our backyard, better than anything else. "He is too small yet to be a sailor," said mother.

Fifty-Two More Stories for Boys is a collection of short stories written by William Henry Giles Kingston and published in 1890. The book is a sequel to his previous work, Fifty-Two Stories for Boys, and features tales of adventure and heroism that are intended to inspire and entertain young readers.The stories in this collection cover a wide range of topics, including tales of seafaring adventures, hunting expeditions, and battles with wild animals. There are also stories of bravery and self-sacrifice, as well as humorous anecdotes and cautionary tales.Through these stories, Kingston aims to instill important values such as courage, perseverance, and honesty in his young readers. The book is written in a simple and straightforward style, making it accessible to readers of all ages.Overall, Fifty-Two More Stories for Boys is a timeless classic that continues to inspire and delight readers more than a century after its initial publication.This scarce antiquarian book is a facsimile reprint of the old original and may contain some imperfections such as library marks and notations. Because we believe this work is culturally important, we have made it available as part of our commitment for protecting, preserving, and promoting the world's literature in affordable, high quality, modern editions, that are true to their original work.

"Never throw away a piece of string, a screw, or a nail, or neglect an opportunity, when it offers, of gaining knowledge or learning how to do a thing," my father used to say; and as I respected him, I followed his advice, -and have, through life, on many occasions had reason to be thankful that I did so

My great ambition as a boy was to be a sailor; the idea of becoming one occupied my thoughts by day and influenced my dreams by night. I delighted in reading naval histories and exploits and tales of the sea, and I looked upon Rodney, Howe, Nelson, and Saint Vincent, as well as Duncan, Collingwood, Exmouth, and Sir Sidney Smith, as far greater men, and more worthy of admiration, than all the heroes of antiquity put together-an opinion which I hold even to the present day, and which, I hope, all my readers will maintain with me.