Books published by publisher Redhen

IT is now more than a year since you read my "Fifty Famous Stories." Those stories, as you will remember, are quite short and easy. Before you had finished your second year at school you could read every one of them without stopping to study the meaning of the words. Many thousands of children have read those fifty stories, and then they have asked for more; and this is my excuse for the present volume.You are older now, and you have learned many things which you did not know when we first became acquainted. You are able to read almost everything. And so, in telling you "Thirty More Famous Stories," I have chosen more difficult subjects and have not been so careful to select the shortest and easiest words. Still, you will not find this book hard to read, neither do I think it will prove to be less interesting than the earlier volume.Nearly all the stories are true, and there are not more than three or four that might not have happened. In every one there is something worth learning and remembering.

"The Tinderbox" is a literary fairy tale by Hans Christian Andersen about a soldier who acquires a magic tinderbox capable of summoning three powerful dogs to do his bidding. When the soldier has one of the dogs transport a sleeping princess to his room, he is sentenced to death but cunningly summons the dogs to save his life.The tale has its source in a Andersen learned in his childhood, but similarities with "Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp" and other tales have been noted. The story was one of Andersen's first fairy tales, and was published by C. A. Reitzel in Copenhagen, Denmark on 8 May 1835 in an inexpensive booklet with three other tales by Andersen. The four tales were not favorably received by Danish critics who disliked their informal, chatty style and lack of morals. In 1946, "The Tinderbox" was the source material for Denmark's first animated film, and, in 2007, a ballet with costumes and scenery designed by Queen Margrethe II.

I believe there is no boy, the wide world over, who has not once upon a time set out in search of a hero, and found him, too, in many an unlikely corner. And thereupon he has set him up in a niche of the temple which he keeps for the most part locked, but which at rare moments he visits, reverently and with care.I who write came one day to a little sea-swept land bound by great reaches of grass-tied dunes, and there, lingering to learn the history of the country, unawares I found my hero.For the Romance of the Netherlands is in truth the life of William the Silent writ large. And in these pages, if the face of William of Nassau, Prince of Orange, does not look at you with living eyes, and if his voice does not vibrate in your heart in living tones, the glamour of the tale has been lost in the telling. You may shut the book in discontent.But if you find a living man, baffled indeed and often beaten, yet one who struggles on through failure to victory, one who gives his time, his possessions, and his life for the sake of his country, then unlock the temple where your heroes stand, and in a niche apart place William the Silent, the father of his people.And at rare moments look at him, listen to him, and, if it may be, imitate him.MARY MACGREGOR.

"Beowulf is known to every one." Some months ago I read these words, and doubted if they were true. Then the thought came to me that I would help to make them true, for Beowulf is a fine story finely told, and it is a pity that there should be any who do not know it. So here it is "told to the children."Besides being a fine story, Beowulf is of great interest because it is our earliest epic, that is, the oldest poem in the Anglo-Saxon language which tells of noble deeds in noble words.In the British Museum there is a little book, worn and brown with age, spoiled by fire and water. Yet it is not so brown and old, it is not so spoiled but that it may still be read by those who know Anglo-Saxon. This book is a thousand years old, and in its worn brown pages it holds the story of Beowulf.There is something strange and wonderful in the thought that the story which pleased our forefathers a thousand years ago should please us still to-day. But what is more wonderful is that it should be told in such beautiful words that they thrill us with delight and make us feel as if those old days were fresh and living. In the telling of the story I have tried to keep something of that old-time spirit, and when, later, you come to read the tale in bigger and better books, I hope that you will say that I did not quite fail.

This book is in no degree an attempt to relate the involved and intricate history of the Middle Ages. Its plan is, rather, to present pictures of the manner of life and habits of thought of the people who lived between the eighth and fifteenth centuries. Our writings and our everyday conversation are full of their phrases and of allusions to their ideas. Many of our thoughts and feelings and instincts, of our very follies and superstitions, have descended to us from them. To become better acquainted with them is to explain ourselves. In selecting from the enormous amount of material, I have sought to choose those customs which were most characteristic of the times and which have made the strongest impression upon the life of to-day, describing each custom when at its height, rather than tracing its development and history. I hope that the volume will be found sufficiently full to serve as a work of reference, and sufficiently interesting to win its way as a book of general reading.

In this story of Roland as I propose telling it, I shall introduce you to some of the most pleasing of those "tales of France" The poems and legends which embody them were written in various languages, and at widely different times; but in them two names, Charlemagne and Roland are of very frequent occurrence. Charlemagne, as you know, was a real historical personage, the greatest monarch of medieval times. His empire included France, the greater part of Germany and Italy; and his power and influence were felt all over the Christian world. The fame of his achievements in war was heralded and sung in every country of Europe; his name was in the mouth of every story-teller and wandering bard; and it finally became customary to ascribe all the heroic deeds and wonderful events of three centuries to the time of Charlemagne. The songs and stories in which these events were related were dressed up with every kind of embellishment to suit the circumstances of their recital. Wild myths of the Pagan ages, legends and traditions of the Christian Church, superstitious notions of magic and witchcraft, fantastic stories derived from the Arabs of Spain and the East,—all these were blended in one strange mass, and grafted upon a slender core of historical truth. The result was a curious mixture of fact and fiction, of the real and the marvellous, of the beautiful and the impure, of Christian devotion and heathen superstition. And it was thus that "the tales of France", which we may term the legendary history of Charlemagne, came into being.The Charlemagne of romance is a very different personage from the Charlemagne of history; and the tales which cluster around the name of that monarch must not be regarded as true picture of life and manners during his reign, but rather as illustrations of the state of society at the various times of their composition. In the romances, Charlemagne is represented as the patron of chivalry, and his warriors as possessing all the knightly virtues. But we know, that, in his time, the institution of chivalry did not exist, and that there were no knights. In the tenth century, however, when men first began to write down the tales of France, chivalry was in its prime; and it was but natural that the poet who wrote and sang for feudal chiefs and lords should invest his heroes with knighthood, and represent Charlemagne as the founder of the order.

OF the propriety of submitting this book to the public I have had very serious doubts. The nature-books of recent years have certainly been a strong incentive to out-of-door life, to healthful and clean living as near to nature as possible.And it seemed to me that any recital of actual experiences that might possibly deter a person seeking country life as a means of pecuniary profit, from taking the plunge, might perhaps be injudicious.But the more I considered the matter the more I became convinced that the representations of the beautifully illustrated nature-magazines, the seductive stories in Sunday paper supplements, farm and garden pamphlets, seed catalogues, poultry periodicals, pigeon monthlies, and like literature, were a trifle overdrawn, and only too often had the effect of luring the unwary city dweller to forsake the undeniable luxuries and comforts of city life, for the hard, and often, at first, unremunerative labor on a farm.For many city-bred people have become con­vinced that the path to riches, luxury, and com­fort is by way of mushrooms cultivated in an old bureau or in a barn-cellar; that a solid bank account is the sure and proximate result of "raising squabs for profit"; that a safe-deposit box is a vital necessity after a year with one thousand hens.But the cultivation of mushrooms by any per­sons other than experts is too often attended with loss of life in horrible agony on the part of those purchasers relying on the quality of the goods; squabs "go light," and pigeons do not always breed; and without experienced and constant care, a package of insect powder, a chattel mort­gage, or the services of an auctioneer are of much more importance and a far greater necessity after a year with a thousand hens, than a safe- deposit box.There is a "Jabberwock with eyes of flame" lying in wait for every product of the farm and garden, but in that I think lies one of the charms of farming. Crops that will thrive without cul­tivation are not very desirable. It is much better fun to catch pickerel and trout than eels or pout, although the baser fish are just as good to eat. A boy of ten will throw back with disgust a six-pound sucker he has caught, but will fancy him­self a Croesus when, after unheard-of climbing and walking and wading and sweating and mos­quito-biting, he returns with a small string of wary perch weighing four ounces each.The same care and the same amount of work that will produce success in other lines of useful­ness will, I believe, lead to success on a farm. More than this, I do not believe there can be a healthier life or a pleasanter than the life of a per­son interested in country life or nature on a farm, whether he farms as an amateur, with an income from a profession or a trade, or as a farmer from love of the life.And I trust that this book may be useful in tempting many back to the soil, prepared for hard work, without which no success is worth the name.

The tales in this collection have been gathered in various parts of Canada. They have been selected from a larger collection of folk-tales and folk-songs made by the writer for more academic and scientific purposes. They are not the product of the writer's imagination; they are the common possession of the "folk." Many of them are still reverently believed by the Canadian Indians, and all are still told with seriousness around camp-fires in forests and on plains, upon the sea and by cottage hearths. The dress in which they now appear may be new, but the skeleton of each story has been left unchanged.Canada is a country with a romantic past. The atmosphere in which our ancestors lived in the early days of exploration and colonization, if not one of enchantment, was at least one of mystery. The traditions and tales of our country's past are rapidly disappearing in its practical present, and the poetry of its former times is rarely heard above the hum of its modern life. Its "old unhappy far-off things and battles long ago" are fading memories, for comparatively little has been done to save its old tales from oblivion. That the children of the land may know something of the traditions of the mysterious past in which their forefathers dwelt and laboured is the writer's only excuse for the publication of this volume.The writer's deepest thanks are here expressed to the nameless Indians and "habitants," the fisherman and sailors, "the spinners and the knitters in the sun," from whose lips he heard these stories.It is perhaps but fair to explain that the proofs were corrected by the writer in the intervals between other duties on Vimy Ridge, France, and that to this fact and the consequent haste any minor errors may in part at least be attributed.

"Ah, Freedom is a noble thing!Freedom makes a man to have liking [pleasure];Freedom all solace to man gives;He lives at ease that freely lives!"These words were written by a poet who lived in the days of Bruce, and who kept for us the story of his life and adventures.It is to Robert the Bruce that we who live north of the Tweed owe our freedom.More than that we owe to him.For in the loneliest colonies of the farthest off lands in which the Union Jack has been unfurled, we are very sure to find Britons, much of whose pluck, patience, and power of endurance comes from the fact that their forebears had to fight hard to win and to hold their rights as freemen.It is a proud thing for any boy to know himself to be one of the descendants of those who, through evil times, were true to their country and their king, and who fought and died on the field of Bannockburn.

This foreword is written from the Playtime Coun­try try of our Eastern States, the coast of Maine. Here the little brown rabbit waits confidingly by the road­side till the human animal is all but abreast of him. The squirrel pelts with broken acorn cups the in­truder who discovers his favorite red oak. Sea gulls soar overhead so close that one can trace the outline of their slender, fish-like bodies hanging between the outspread curve of wings. Wild roses and thick mats of low-bush blueberries cover the pastured clear­ings; bunch-berries, scarlet in the deep moss, tuft the shadowy carpet under the red spruce and the balsam fir. It is a land of leisure and of the merry heart.Such a land I would might unfold about the open fire in the dreaming eyes of every child who hears these little stories told. For there is wisdom found, -- and true content, -- in leisure with the merry heart.The stories in this book, some very old and un­changed, some new, and some changed from an older form, grew into their present shape by the process of being told to children many, many times. They were shortened or lengthened, modelled and remodelled, by the conscious or instinctive adaptation of the story-teller to the listener. A few of them took this form long since, and are included here because chil­dren of many generations have loved to hear them thus, but the greater part are the fruit of my own story-telling years, and, because of their good fortune in the favor of English-speaking children of to-day, have served as model forms for teachers and mothers all over the world.All of them, with others, are included in one or the other of my two earlier books, "How to Tell Stories to Children" and "Stories to Tell to Children," both of which are used chiefly by persons in some way actively concerned in the education of children, and both of which deal largely with the aims and method of story­telling as an art.It is the belief of the publishers, here and in England, that some of the stories ought to be printed separately from these books on method, for the more ready access of children themselves and those whose interest is of a wholly untechnical sort. This is the more de­sirable because stories which are especially adapted to be told are equally charming for reading aloud or to one's self. The converse is not true: stories written to be read are rarely suitable for the story-teller's art until they have been skilfully adapted. In other words, those tales which can be and have been told with suc­cess are in a sense the chosen few; they, of all the world's stories, are most charming to hear or to read.We, therefore, the publishers and I, have chosen, out of the tested story-telling favorites of the children who made my earlier public, this handful of the very dearest, to give to the children themselves. We hope the mothers and big sisters, and of course the fathers and good uncles and aunts, will like to tell or read these tales to the littler ones. Bu t we also trust that many a studious little head will bend over the pages of this book while the reading child absorbs its stories all for himself, and traces in Mr. Patten Wilson's fas­cinating pictures the adventures of its mimic world. For it is to the children and their home friends that we send it out, with greetings from the Playtime Land to the Playtime spirit, everywhere.

Oliver Cromwell (25 April 1599 – 3 September 1658) was an English military and political leader who was part of the joint republican, military and parliamentarian effort that overthrew the Stuart monarchy as a result of the English Civil War, and was subsequently invited by his fellow leaders to assume a head of state role in 1653. As such, Cromwell ruled as "Lord Protector" for a five-year segment (1653–58) of the 11-year period of republican Commonwealth and protectorate rule of England, and nominally of Ireland, Wales and Scotland. As one of the commanders of the New Model Army, he played an important role in the defeat of the King's forces, the royalists in the English Civil War. After the execution of King Charles I in 1649, Cromwell dominated the short-lived Commonwealth of England, conquered Ireland and Scotland, ruling as Lord Protector from 1653 until his death in 1658.This biography of Cromwell was written with geography in mind. During the English Civil War Cromwell fought battles all over England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland so the author uses the story of his life to inspire interest in the landmarks of the British Isles. The fascinating story of Cromwell's life is not hindered, but rather enhanced by the special attention to environment, and numerous maps.