Charles Perrault (12 January 1628 – 16 May 1703) was a French author and member of the Académie française. He laid the foundations for a new literary genre, the fairy tale, with his works derived from pre-existing folk tales. The best known of his tales include Le Petit Chaperon rouge (Little Red Riding Hood), Cendrillon (Cinderella), Le Chat Botté (Puss in Boots) and La Barbe bleue (Bluebeard).
Short Story Collection
George Henry Harrison, though without living near kinfolk, had never considered himself alone in the world. Up to the time when he became thirty years of age he had always thought himself, when he thought of the matter at all, as fortunate in the extent of his friendships. He was acquainted with a great many people; he had a recognized social standing, was somewhat cleverer than the average man, and his instincts, while refined by education and experience, were decidedly gregarious and toward hearty companionship.
The amount of work planned for this period always exceeded the time and ability of the crews to do it. Projects took longer to complete due to bad planning, delays in delivery of equipment and material, bad weather or competing priorities.
The Indians of the northwestern plains always laughed at the tales about Old-man, heard around a campfire after the sun set. For a powerful character, he was comically flawed. Old-man made the world but sometimes forgot the names of things. Victim and victimizer, he seemed closer to common experience than the awesome god Manitou. Frank B. Linderman thought Old-man was, under different names, an undergod for all Indian tribes. These stories--collected from Blackfeet, Chippewa, and Cree elders and first published in 1920--are full of wonder at the way things are.
Thinking of the little Nibelungs' harsh voices and wrinkled little faces, as they had sat talking thus around Mimer's glowing forge, Siegfried now flung aside his deerskin dress and bathed himself from top to toe in the dragon's blood.
Two of these lie in the broad clefts of the rock, under the Schreckhorn and Wetterhorn, near the little town of Grindelwald. They are so remarkable that many strangers come to gaze at them, in the summer time, from all parts of the world.
THE Blanchards were in doubt whether it should be a fast or a thanksgiving. It was hard to put some indefinite thousands of miles between them and their child, especially of such a rough road as the wild Atlantic; nor did it make it any the easier because the maternal intelligence amongst them had not altogether mastered the recent improvements in sea-science and law, but had strange fears of sharks and pirates, rocks and leaky ships.
The question of professions, in as far as they regard marriage, was only interesting to women until of late days, but it touches all of us now. Certainly, if I could help it, I would never marry a wife who wrote. The practice of letters is miserably harassing to the mind; and after an hour or two's work, all the more human portion of the author is extinct.