The Eclipse. By James Fenimore Cooper THE eclipse of the sun, which you have requested me to describe, occurred in the summer of 1806, on Monday, the 16th of June. Its greatest depth of shadow fell upon the American continent, somewhere about the latitude of 42 deg. I was then on a visit to my parents, at the home of my family, among the Highlands of Otsego, in that part of the country where the eclipse was most impressive. My recollections of the great event, and the incidents of the day, are as vivid as if they had occurred but yesterday. Lake Otsego, the headwaters of the Susquehanna, lies as nearly as possible in latitude 42 deg. Throughout the belt of country to be darkened by the eclipse, the whole population were in a state of almost anxious expectation for weeks before the event. Many were the prophecies regarding the weather, the hopes and fears expressed by different individuals, on this important point, as evening drew near. But an object of far higher interest suddenly attracted my eye.
The Lottery. By Shirley Jackson Shirley Jackson's short story The Lottery was published in 1948 and is not in the public domain. Accordingly, we are prohibited from presenting the full text here as part of our short story collections, but here is a short summary of the story, followed by some commentary and explanations. It is important to have some historical context to understand this story and the negative reaction that it generated when it was published in the June 26, 1948 issue of The New Yorker.
The setting for the story, a village gathering, wasn't a fictional creation in rural America during the summer this story was published. Rural community leaders often organized summertime gatherings to draw people together in town centers to socialize and hopefully frequent some of the business establishments. It was thought to be good for the businesses and good for the community. On a warm summer day, villagers gather in a town square to participate in a lottery. The night before Mr. Mr. New Feature! The Cask of Amontillado. By Edgar Allan Poe The Cask of Amontillado and the accompanying illustration by Harry Clarke were published in 1919 in Edgar Allan Poe'sTales of Mystery and Imagination.
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, that gave utterance to a threat. At length I would be avenged; this was a point definitely, settled --but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk. I must not only punish but punish with impunity. A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. It must be understood that neither by word nor deed had I given Fortunato cause to doubt my good will. He had a weak point --this Fortunato --although in other regards he was a man to be respected and even feared. It was about dusk, one evening during the supreme madness of the carnival season, that I encountered my friend.
"How? " "Amontillado! " The Monkey's Paw. By W. W. Jacobs "Be careful what you wish for, you may receive it. " --Anonymous Part I Without, the night was cold and wet, but in the small parlour of Laburnum villa the blinds were drawn and the fire burned brightly. "Hark at the wind," said Mr. "I'm listening," said the latter grimly surveying the board as he stretched out his hand. "I should hardly think that he's come tonight, " said his father, with his hand poised over the board. "Mate," replied the son. "That's the worst of living so far out," balled Mr. "Never mind, dear," said his wife soothingly; "perhaps you'll win the next one. " Mr. "There he is," said Herbert White as the gate banged to loudly and heavy footsteps came toward the door. The old man rose with hospitable haste and opening the door, was heard condoling with the new arrival.
"Sargeant-Major Morris, " he said, introducing him. "Twenty-one years of it," said Mr. "He don't look to have taken much harm. " said Mrs. "Nothing. " said the soldier hastily. "Monkey's paw? " Mr. The Tell Tale Heart. By Edgar Allan Poe Illustration of "The Tell-Tale Heart" by Harry Clarke, from Edgar Allan Poe's Tales of Mystery and Imagination, 1919. TRUE! -NERVOUS--very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am! But why will you say that I am mad? It is impossible to tell how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Now this is the point. I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in opening the door. I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern, when my thumb slipped upon the tin fastening, and the old man sprang up in bed, crying out: "Who's there?
" I kept quite still and said nothing. Presently I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. When I had waited a long time, very patiently, without hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little--a very, very little crevice in the lantern. But even yet I refrained and kept still.