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When we started for our drive the sun was shining brightly on Munich, and the air was full of the joyousness of early summer. Just as we were about to depart, Herr Delbruck (the maitre d'hotel of the Quatre Saisons, where I was staying) came down bareheaded to the carriage and, after wishing me a pleasant drive, said to the coachman, still holding his hand on the handle of the carriage door, "Remember you are back by nightfall. The sky looks bright but there is a shiver in the north wind that says there may be a sudden storm. But I am sure you will not be late." Here he smiled and added,"for you know what night it is." Johann answered with an emphatic, "Ja, mein Herr," and, touching his hat, drove off quickly. When we had cleared the town, I said, after signalling to him to stop:  "Tell me, Johann, what is tonight?"  He crossed himself, as he answered laconically: "Walpurgis nacht." Then he took out his watch, a great, old-fashioned German silver thing as big as a turnip and looked at it, with his eyebrows gathered together and a little impatient shrug of his shoulders. I realized that this was his way of respectfully protesting against the unnecessary delay and sank back in the carriage, merely motioning him to proceed. He started off rapidly, as if to make up for lost time. Every now and then the horses seemed to throw up their heads and sniff the air suspiciously. On such occasions I often looked round in alarm. The road was pretty bleak, for we were traversing a sort of high windswept plateau. As we drove,I saw a road that looked but little used and which seemed to dip through a little winding valley. It looked so inviting that, even at the risk of offending him, I called Johann to stop--and when he had pulled up, I told him I would like to drive down that road. He made all sorts of excuses and frequently crossed himself as he spoke. This somewhat piqued my curiosity, so I asked him various questions. He answered fencingly and repeatedly looked at his watch in protest.

What say of it? what say of CONSCIENCE grim, That spectre in my path? Chamberlayne's Pharronida.  LET me call myself, for the present, William Wilson. The fair page now lying before me need not be sullied with my real appellation. This has been already too much an object for the scorn -- for the horror -- for the detestation of my race. To the uttermost regions of the globe have not the indignant winds bruited its unparalleled infamy? Oh, outcast of all outcasts most abandoned! -- to the earth art thou not forever dead? to its honors, to its flowers, to its golden aspirations? -- and a cloud, dense, dismal, and limitless, does it not hang eternally between thy hopes and heaven?

You say you cannot possibly understand it, and I believe you. You think I am losing my mind? Perhaps I am, but for other reasons than those you imagine, my dear friend.  Yes, I am going to be married, and will tell you what has led me to take that step. light the candle I may see some human face by my side--because--because --I am ashamed to confess it--because I am afraid of being alone.  Oh, you don't understand me yet.  I am not afraid of any danger; if a man were to come into the room, I should kill him without trembling. I am not afraid of ghosts, nor do I believe in the supernatural. I am not afraid of dead people, for I believe in the total annihilation of every being that disappears from the face of this earth.  Well--yes, well, it must be told: I am afraid of myself, afraid of that horrible sensation of incomprehensible fear.  You may laugh, if you like. It is terrible, and I cannot get over it. I am afraid of the walls, of the furniture, of the familiar objects; which are animated, as far as I am concerned, by a kind of animal life. Above all, I am afraid of my own dreadful thoughts, of my reason, which seems as if it were about to leave me, driven away by a mysterious and invisible agony.

Possibly there never has lived a man who has excited more comment than has the subject of this narrative, who was born in Boston, January 17th, 1706. His father was a soap boiler and tallow chandler, and he was the fifteenth in a family of seventeen children.  Young Benjamin was expected by his parents to become a minister of the Gospel, and for this purpose was placed in school at the age of eight, but the reduced circumstances of his father compelled his return home two years later, and he began the work of cutting wicks in his father's establishment. Afterwards he was bound to his brother James, who was a printer, where he worked hard all day, and often spent half the night in reading.  The secret of his great success can be readily perceived, when we know that his favorite books were Mather's "Essays to Do Good," and DeFoe's "Essays of Projects," and many others of a like nature: instead of the modern "Three Fingered Jack," "Calamity Jane," "The Queen of the Plains," or the more 'refined' of to-day's juvenile reading.

Shevatas, a Zamoran thief, awakens an ancient wizard named Thugra Khotan from his 3,000 year slumber. Thugra remembers his dream of world domination. He assumes the name Natohk (The "Veiled One"), assembles an army, and begins his strategy of conquering the Hyborian nations. But the tiny kingdom of Khoraja stands in his way. Khoraja is ruled by the beautiful Yasmela, sister of the king, who is now a prisoner in neighboring Ophir. Fearing Natohk's invasion, Yasmela seeks advice from the god of her ancestors, Mitra. Yasmela is told to travel into the streets and offer her kingdom's defenses to the first man she meets.  The first man she encounters is Conan the Cimmerian. Conan already has a position in Yasmela's army. Now, he's given full command over Khoraja's royal military, much to the confusion of his more cultured comrades. The arrogant officers now under Conan's command ridicule their new commander. But they fall victim to Natohk's magic. Meanwhile, Natohk has made it clear conquering the world isn't the only goal on his agenda; he also desires Queen Yasmela for himself.

George Gusterson is a writer with crazy ideas one being, he still lives on the surface. For another, he imagines a gizmo that would remind him of things like when to turn on the TV. George's mere whim inspires an actual gadget called the Tickler, just a "wire recorder and clock" at first, but then . . . it whispers constantly through an earphone. It instills positive thinking. It injects drugs. It makes decisions. It weights 28 pounds. And it won't get off. Only Gusterson understands what "the little fellow perched on your shoulder" is really saying, one word: Obey! And only Gusterson knows what to say back, if it's not too late.

The story is set in 1790 in the countryside around the Dutch settlement of Tarry Town (historical Tarrytown, New York), in a secluded glen known as Sleepy Hollow. Sleepy Hollow is renowned for its ghosts and the haunting atmosphere that pervades the imaginations of its inhabitants and visitors. Some residents say this town was bewitched during the early days of the Dutch settlement, while others claim that the mysterious atmosphere was caused by an old Native American chief, the "wizard of his tribe ... before the country was discovered by Master Hendrik Hudson." Residents of the town are seemingly subjected to various supernatural and mysterious occurrences. They are subjected to trance like visions and frequented by strange sights, music, and voices "in the air." The inhabitants of Sleepy Hallow are fascinated by the "local tales, haunted spots, and twilight superstitions" on account of the mysterious occurrences and haunting atmosphere. The most infamous spectre in the Hollow, and the "commander-in-chief of all the powers of the air," is the Headless Horseman. He is supposedly the ghost of a Hessian trooper whose head had been shot off by a stray cannonball during "some nameless battle" of the Revolution, and who "rides forth to the scene of battle in nightly quest of his head".

While still recovering from his accident, Hildred obtains and reads The King in Yellow, a false document within the story which is represented as a universally censored play which deeply disturbs him. Once a wealthy dilettante and affable man-about-town, after his accident Hildred becomes an eccentric recluse who spends his days poring over old books and maps and associating with a more eccentric character, Mr. Wilde, the "Repairer of Reputations" of the story's title.  Wilde claims to be the architect of a vast conspiracy which uses, amongst other devices, blackmail to influence and command powerful men whose reputations the conspiracy has saved from scandal. Hildred imagines that, with Wilde's help, he will become the heir of the "Last King" of "The Imperial Dynasty of America", which Wilde says is descended from a lost kingdom within distant stars in the Hyades. However, Hildred perceives his cousin Louis standing before him in the line of succession. Thus, he plans to force Louis to abdicate his claim to the throne, accept exile, and never marry.

The city beats the country ten to one in summer. Fools go out tramping in muddy brooks and wear themselves out trying to catch little fish as long as your finger. Stay in town and keep comfortable--that's my idea." O. Henry's clever wordplay hints that his characters-- especially those who escaped the summer heat for the mountains-- are playing dangerous games of chivalry and deception, as did Demetrius and Lysander, both in love with Hermia. Read on to discover who is the donkey. A Midsummer Knight's Dream by O. Henry

On 20 March 1888, Dr. Watson is visiting Sherlock Holmes when a masked gentleman arrives at 221B Baker Street. Initially introducing himself as Count von Kramm, he reveals himself as Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond von Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstein and hereditary King of Bohemia, after Holmes deduces his true identity. The King explains that, five years earlier, he engaged in a secret relationship with American opera singer Irene Adler, who has since retired and now lives in London. He is set to marry a young Scandinavian princess but worries that her strictly principled family will call the marriage off should they learn of this impropriety.  The King further explains that he seeks to regain a photograph of Adler and himself together which he gave to her as a token. His agents have failed to recover the photograph through various means, and an offer to pay for it was also refused. With Adler now threatening to send the photograph to his fiancée's family, the King requests Holmes and Watson's help in recovering it.  The next morning, a disguised Holmes goes to Adler's house. He discovers Adler has a gentleman friend, barrister Godfrey Norton, who calls at least once a day. On this particular day, Norton visits Adler and soon afterward takes a cab to a nearby church. Minutes later, the lady herself gets into her landau, bound for the same place. Holmes follows in a cab and enters the church, where he is unexpectedly asked to be a witness to Norton and Adler's wedding. Curiously, the newly-weds go their separate ways after the ceremony.  Returning to Baker Street, Holmes recounts his tale to Watson and expresses his amusement at his role in Adler's wedding. He also asks whether or not Watson is willing to participate in an illegal scheme to figure out where the picture is hidden in Adler's house. Watson agrees, and Holmes changes into another disguise as a clergyman. They depart Baker Street for Adler's house.