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Author BAILY Black bottle Bruges Burn called Calydonian boar chair Chak Chess COMIC ANNUAL copy cried Crooked Lane Cynic d'ye think dear DEER STALKING Ditto Doctor door Dowdum duckweed Edition Engleheart Engraved ev'ry eyes fish FLY FISHING friends Frisby gown Guide Hancock head heard honour Hounds Illustrated India paper IRON ROAD BOOK jump lady Landseer letters look Lord Durham's return Ma'am Madam Miss Filby Miss Hopkinson morning mother never Nimrod's Sporting Number nurse º º Obadiah groan Palm oil Pickaninny Plates Polygnotus poor published Quakers Railway Companion Reform round my hat round the Square Sambo Scott Shillings SHOOTING soon splendid Starn Stoke Pogis Straight sure téte-à-têtes There's Thomas Hood tion town vext volume watch Whales wish Zounds
Страница ix - He gained from heaven ('twas all he wished) a friend. No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose) The bosom of his father and his God.
Страница vii - Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds ; Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower, The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign.
Страница viii - There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noon-tide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
Страница ix - One morn I missed him on the customed hill, Along the heath, and near his favourite tree ; Another came : nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he : The next, with dirges due in sad array Slow through the churchway path we saw him borne, — Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
Страница viii - Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd muse, The place of fame and elegy supply : And many a holy text around she strews That teach the rustic moralist to die.
Страница vii - The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds...
Страница viii - Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray; Along the cool sequester'd vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
Страница 94 - ... rug. Last night I had a curious dream, Miss Susan Bates...
Страница 82 - Straight down the Crooked Lane, And all round the Square.