Every Saturday: A Journal of Choice Reading, Том 1Ticknor and Fields., 1866 |
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... English Paper 252 Charles Dickens The Reader • • 79 Once a week . Our Exchanges . Temple Bar . 80 Who shall deliver Me ? by Christina G. Rossetti The Argosy 252 83 85 Revue des Deux Mondes 85 88 • . Fra Giacamo , by Robert Buchanan On a ...
... English Paper 252 Charles Dickens The Reader • • 79 Once a week . Our Exchanges . Temple Bar . 80 Who shall deliver Me ? by Christina G. Rossetti The Argosy 252 83 85 Revue des Deux Mondes 85 88 • . Fra Giacamo , by Robert Buchanan On a ...
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... English were at one time fa- supply and demand , like the meanest article of com- mous as gem - cutters ; but the art is now wholly merce . A revolution brings forth these " flowers of lost among us , and most of the fine gems are now ...
... English were at one time fa- supply and demand , like the meanest article of com- mous as gem - cutters ; but the art is now wholly merce . A revolution brings forth these " flowers of lost among us , and most of the fine gems are now ...
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... English travellers traversing the horrors of the massacres of old . Let it be the bogs , where they were marshalled by thousands . borne in mind , however , that , in dealing with a But it appears that a certain small nucleus of truth ...
... English travellers traversing the horrors of the massacres of old . Let it be the bogs , where they were marshalled by thousands . borne in mind , however , that , in dealing with a But it appears that a certain small nucleus of truth ...
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... English family who had held it for some generations . When and where the poor Celtic schoolmaster's forefathers had come upon the field none pretended to know . Anxious , however , to calm the minds of his neigh- bors , the Squire ...
... English family who had held it for some generations . When and where the poor Celtic schoolmaster's forefathers had come upon the field none pretended to know . Anxious , however , to calm the minds of his neigh- bors , the Squire ...
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... English , then , correcting herself , she spoke French . I smiled . " I am English , as you are . " " O , I am so glad ! " she said , quite childishly . Then she added , " I can offer no excuse for troub- ling you ; but will you tell me ...
... English , then , correcting herself , she spoke French . I smiled . " I am English , as you are . " " O , I am so glad ! " she said , quite childishly . Then she added , " I can offer no excuse for troub- ling you ; but will you tell me ...
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appeared arms asked barrister beautiful better Bourhope brother called captain carats Chrissy color Colter Corrie crinoline dark daugh dear death Derry door England English eyes face father feel feet France French gentleman Giovanni Doria girls give guarda-costa Gustave Doré half hand head hear heard heart hour hundred Jack Bulstrode John King knew lady Langworth laughed light living look Lord Ludlow Castle matter ment Mildmay mind Mont Saint Michel morning mother nervous never night O'Kanes once Paris passed perhaps poor portmanteau present purser Rosendale Rothenthurm round seemed seen ship side sizar soon stairs stood talk tell things thou thought tion told took town turned Victor Hugo voice walked wife window woman words workhouse young
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Страница 256 - Too rare, too rare, grow now my visits here, But once I knew each field, each flower, each stick; And with the country-folk acquaintance made By barn in threshing-time, by new-built rick. Here, too, our shepherd-pipes we first assay'd.
Страница 190 - And many more, whose names on Earth are dark, But whose transmitted effluence cannot die So long as fire outlives the parent spark, Rose, robed in dazzling immortality. ' Thou art become as one of us...
Страница 281 - Now it appears to me that almost any Man may like the spider spin from his own inwards his own airy Citadel — the points of leaves and twigs on which the spider begins her work are few, and she fills the air with a beautiful circuiting. Man should be content with as few points to tip with the fine Web of his Soul, and weave a tapestry empyrean full of symbols for his spiritual eye, of softness for his spiritual touch, of space for his wandering, of distinctness for his luxury.
Страница 257 - Who, if not I, for questing here hath power? I know the wood which hides the daffodil, I know the Fyfield tree, I know what white, what purple fritillaries The grassy harvest of the river-fields, Above by Ensham, down by Sandford, yields, And what sedged brooks are Thames's tributaries; I know these slopes; who knows them if not I?
Страница 33 - The Clouds that gather round the setting sun Do take a sober coloring from an eye That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality; Another race hath been, and other palms are won.
Страница 258 - Here cam'st thou in thy jocund youthful . time, Here was thine height of strength, thy golden prime ! And still the haunt beloved a virtue yields.
Страница 353 - And let those that play your clowns, speak no more than is set down for them : for there be of them, that will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren spectators to laugh too ; though, in the mean time, some necessary question of the play be then to be considered: that's villainous; and . shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it.
Страница 256 - Soon will the high Midsummer pomps come on, Soon will the musk carnations break and swell, Soon shall we have gold-dusted snapdragon, Sweet- William with his homely cottage-smell, And stocks in fragrant blow; Roses that down the alleys shine afar, And open, jasmine-muffled lattices, And groups under the dreaming garden-trees, And the full moon, and the white evening-star.
Страница 223 - England will never consent that France shall arrogate the power of annulling at her pleasure, and under the pretence of a pretended natural right, of which she makes herself the only judge, the political system of Europe, established by solemn treaties, and guaranteed by the consent of all the powers.
Страница 75 - O Beautiful! my Country! ours once more! Smoothing thy gold of war-dishevelled hair O'er such sweet brows as never other wore, And letting thy set lips, Freed from wrath's pale eclipse, The rosy edges of their smile lay bare, What words divine of lover or of poet Could tell our love and make thee know it, Among the Nations bright beyond compare? What were our lives without thee? What all our lives to save thee? We reck not what we gave thee; We will not dare to doubt thee, But ask whatever else,...