The Sketch-book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent. [pseud.] ...

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LibraryThing Review

Потребителски отзив  - haloedrain - LibraryThing

4 stars for Rip Van Winkle and Sleepy Hollow. The rest are skippable, they read like the kind of op-ed that spawns lots of other op-eds and blog posts disagreeing with each other. Прочетете пълната рецензия

LibraryThing Review

Потребителски отзив  - JBD1 - LibraryThing

I had read "Rip Van Winkle" and "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" before, but I picked this up to read the other essays included in the collection. "The Art of Book-making" (about a visit to the British ... Прочетете пълната рецензия

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Страница 50 - ... and all-besetting terrors of a woman's tongue ? The moment Wolf entered the house his crest fell, his tail drooped to the ground, or curled between his legs, he sneaked about with a gallows air, casting many a sidelong glance at Dame Van Winkle, and at the least flourish of a broomstick or ladle he would fly to the door with yelping precipitation.
Страница 52 - Wolf would wag his tail, look wistfully in his master's face, and if dogs can feel pity I verily believe he reciprocated the sentiment with all his heart.
Страница 13 - gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long : And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad; The nights are wholesome ; then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.
Страница 190 - This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever Ran on the green-sward : nothing she does or seems But smacks of something greater than herself, Too noble for this place.
Страница 60 - The very character of the people seemed changed. There was a busy, bustling, disputatious tone about it, instead of the accustomed phlegm and drowsy tranquillity. He looked in vain for the sage Nicholas Vedder, with...
Страница 185 - Say I died true. My love was false, but I was firm, From my hour of birth, Upon my buried body lie Lightly, gentle earth.
Страница 118 - Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise: Arise, arise.
Страница 249 - ... Let it suffice to say, Ichabod stole forth with the air of one who had been sacking a hen-roost, rather than a fair lady's heart. Without looking to the right or left to notice the scene of rural wealth, on which he had so often gloated, he went straight to the stable, and with several hearty cuffs and kicks, roused his steed most uncourteously from the comfortable quarters in which he was soundly sleeping, dreaming of mountains of corn and oats, and whole valleys of timothy and clover.
Страница 62 - There was a silence for a little while, when an old man replied, in a thin, piping voice, "Nicholas Vedder! why, he is dead and gone these eighteen years! There was a wooden tombstone in the churchyard that used to tell all about him, but that's rotten and gone too.
Страница 51 - Vedder, a patriarch of the village, and landlord of the inn, at the door of which he took his seat from morning till night, just moving sufficiently to avoid the sun and keep in the shade of a large tree; so that the neighbors could tell the hour by his movements as accurately as by a sundial.

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