Heidi

For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by J.L. Baldwin.

many writers have suffered injustice in being known as the author of but one book robinson crusoe was not defoe's only masterpiece nor did bunyan confine his best powers to pilgrim's progress not one person in ten of those who read lorna doone is aware that several of blackmore's other novels are almost equally charming Such, too, has been the fate of Johanna Spiri, the Swiss authoress, whose reputation is mistakenly supposed to rest on her story of Heidi.

To be sure, Heidi is a book that, in its field, can hardly be overpraised.

The winsome, kind-hearted little heroine in her mountain background is a figure to be remembered from childhood to old age.

Nevertheless, Madame Spiri has shown here but one side of her narrative ability— if as i believe the present story is here first presented to readers of english it must be through a strange oversight for in it we find a deeper treatment of character combined with equal spirit and humor of a different kind cornelli the heroine suffers temporarily from the unjust suspicion of her elders a misfortune which it is to be feared still occurs frequently in the case of sensitive children how she was restored to herself and reinstated in her father's affection forms a narrative of unusual interest and truth to life whereas in heidi there is only one other childish figure if we except the droll peasant boy peter we have here a lively and varied array of children manly generous dino mucks the irrepressible and the two girls form a truly lovable group the grown-ups too are contrasted with much humor and genuine feeling The story of Corneli, therefore, deserves to equal Heidi in popularity, and there can be no question that it will delight Madame Spiri's admirers, and will do much to increase the love which all children feel for her unique and sympathetic genius.

Charles Horton Stork End of Forward Corneli by Johanna Spiri CHAPTER I. BESIDE THE ROARING ILLER STREAM Spring had come again on the banks of the Iller Stream, and the young beech trees were swaying to and fro.

One moment their glossy foliage was sparkling in the sunshine, and the next a deep shadow was cast over the leaves.