The story likely takes place in a maritime setting, perhaps along the coast of England or in another coastal region. The title suggests a connection to the sea, and readers can expect themes of adventure, romance, and perhaps elements of mystery or intrigue.In "A Maid of the Silver Sea," readers may encounter a cast of characters whose lives are intertwined with the sea—a source of both danger and wonder. The protagonist, possibly a young woman or a sailor, may embark on a journey of self-...

The Mills of God grind slowly, but they grind exceeding small—
So soft and slow the great wheels go they scarcely move at all;
But the souls of men fall into them and are powdered into dust,
And in that dust grow the Passion-Flowers—Love, Hope, Trust. Most wondrous their upspringing, in the dust of the Grinding-Mills,
And rare beyond the telling the fragrance each distils.
Some grow up tall and stately, and some grow sweet and small,
But Life out of Death is in each one—with purpose grow t...

What if everything you thought you knew about the most pivotal years in human history had been left deliberately, achingly blank? John Oxenham's The Hidden Years dares to step into the silence that has captivated seekers, scholars, and dreamers for centuries, bringing to vivid and reverent life the unrecorded youth of Jesus of Nazareth. Set against the sun-baked landscapes of ancient Galilee, this extraordinary novel imagines the formative decades that shaped a young carpenter into the fig...

For years past I had regarded a general war in Europe as an eventual certainty. The experience which I gained during the seven or eight years spent as a member of the Committee of Imperial Defence, and my three years tenure of the Office of Chief of the General Staff, greatly strengthened this conviction. For reasons which it is unnecessary to enter upon, I resigned my position as Chief of the Staff in April, 1914, and from that time I temporarily lost touch with the European situation as ...

A girl and a boy lay in a cubby-hole in the north side of the cliff overlooking Port Gorey, and watched the goings-on down below. The sun was tending towards Guernsey and the gulf was filled witn golden light. A small brig, unkempt and dirty, was nosing towards the rough wooden landing-stage clamped to the opposite rocks, as though doubtful of the advisability of attempting its closer acquaintance. "Mon Gyu, Bern, how I wish they were all at the bottom of the sea!" said the girl vehemently...

War is that most awful and heinous display of man’s inhumanity.And within the legions of slaughtered young men in the trenches of Western Europe, or the desperate carnage of battles fought elsewhere, were a group of men we now call the War Poets. Names such as Owen, Thomas, Brooke for example may still have a legacy that so eloquently describes the suffering, brutality and the waste of the human body and spirit, but so many others have left their words on a page and sunk to forgott...

For those who were chiefly in my heart when these verses came to me from time to time—our men and boys at the Front, and those they leave behind them in grievous sorrow and anxiety at home—my little message is that, so far as they are concerned—"ALL'S WELL!" Those who have so nobly responded to the Call, and those who, with quiet faces and breaking hearts, have so bravely bidden them "God speed!"—with these, All is truly Well, for they are equally giving their best to what, in this case, w...

She was so dainty a little figure that the bare-armed women in the doors of the lands and closes turned and looked after her with enjoyment untinged even with envy. They scratched their elbows and commented on her points with complacent understanding.

The early morning of July 25th, 1914, was not at all such as the date might reasonably have led one to expect. It was gray and overcast, with heavy dew lying white on the grass and a quite unseasonable rawness in the air. The clock on the mantelpiece of the morning-room in The Red House, Willstead, was striking six, in the sonorous Westminster chimes, which were so startlingly inconsistent with its size, as Mr John Dare drew the bolts of the French window and stepped out on to his back law...

NOTE.—It would be impossible to depict the Sark of to-day without using the names native to the Island. All such names here employed, however, are used without any reference whatever to any actual persons who may happen to bear similar names in Sark. The characters are to be taken as types. The incidents are in many cases fact. If you want murders, mysteries, or mud—pass on! This is a simple, straightforward love-story. "Jock, my lad," said Lady Elspeth softly, nodding her head very many t...

To give you a clear understanding of matters I must begin at the beginning and set things down in their proper order, though, as you will see, that was not by any means the way in which I myself came to learn them. For my mother and my grandfather were not given to overmuch talk at the best of times, and all my boyish questionings concerning my father left me only the bare knowledge that, like many another Island man in those times—ay, and in all times—he had gone down to the sea and had n...

If by any chance you should ever sail on a low ebb-tide along a certain western coast, you will, if you are of a receptive humour and new to the district, receive a somewhat startling impression of the dignity of the absolutely flat. Your ideas of militant and resistant grandeur may have been associated hitherto with the iron frontlets and crashing thunders of Finisterre or Sark, of Cornwall or the Western Isle. Here you are faced with a repressive curbing of the waters, equal in every res...