The Sportsman |
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Популярні уривки
Сторінка 164 - No, Sir, claret is the liquor for boys ; port for men ; but he who aspires to be a hero (smiling) must drink brandy.
Сторінка 442 - Let the great gods, That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads, Find out their enemies now.
Сторінка 323 - My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind, So flew"d, so sanded; and their heads are hung With ears that sweep away the morning dew ; Crook-kneed and dew-lapp'd like Thessalian bulls ; Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells, Each under each. A cry more tuneable Was never holla'd to, nor cheer'd with horn, In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly : Judge when you hear.
Сторінка 273 - IT IS a hard and nice subject for a man to write of himself; it grates his own heart to say anything of disparagement, and the reader's ears to hear anything of praise from him.
Сторінка 176 - Bushman quickly brought me a stout buffalo-rheim from my horse's neck, which I passed through the opening in the thick skin, and moored Behemoth to a tree. I then took my rifle and sent a ball through the centre of her head, and she was numbered with the dead.
Сторінка 175 - ... stream, and the water was becoming deeper. To settle the matter. I accordingly fired a second shot from the bank, which, entering the roof of her skull, passed out through her eye ; she then kept continually splashing round and round in a circle in the middle of the river. I had great fears of the crocodiles, and did not know that the sea-cow might not attack me.
Сторінка 409 - Couch'd among fallen columns, in the shade Of ruin'd walls that had survived the names Of those who rear'd them ; by his sleeping side Stood camels grazing, and some goodly steeds Were fasten'd near a fountain; and a man...
Сторінка 160 - Hath seal'd thee for herself : for thou hast been As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing ; A man that Fortune's buffets and rewards Hast ta'en with equal thanks : and blest are those Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled, That they are not a pipe for Fortune's finger To sound what stop she please.
Сторінка 230 - Thus may we gather honey from the weed, And make a moral of the devil himself.
Сторінка 25 - And struggling fiercely, but in vain, In the full foam of wrath and dread To me the desert-born was led : They bound me on, that menial throng...