Daisy's Necklace: and what Came of it: (a Literary Episode.)Derby & Jackson, 1857 - 225 стор. |
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Сторінка 9
... Barescythe , Esquire , the book - noticer of " The Morning Glory , " ( " a journal devoted to the Fine Arts and the Amelioration of all Mankind , " ) and the type of a certain class which need not be distinctly specified for recognition ...
... Barescythe , Esquire , the book - noticer of " The Morning Glory , " ( " a journal devoted to the Fine Arts and the Amelioration of all Mankind , " ) and the type of a certain class which need not be distinctly specified for recognition ...
Сторінка 10
(a Literary Episode.) Thomas Bailey Aldrich. In drawing the character of Barescythe , the point of my quill may have pierced a friend ; and if you ask , like Ludovico , " What shall be said of thee ? " I shall answer , like Othello ...
(a Literary Episode.) Thomas Bailey Aldrich. In drawing the character of Barescythe , the point of my quill may have pierced a friend ; and if you ask , like Ludovico , " What shall be said of thee ? " I shall answer , like Othello ...
Сторінка 15
... Barescythe . " 66 Yes , sir . " " I am going to write a novel , Mrs. Muggins ! " That lady did not exhibit much emotion . " Yes , sir . " And Mrs. Muggins ambled out of the room- door , to which she had been summoned by some peremptory ...
... Barescythe . " 66 Yes , sir . " " I am going to write a novel , Mrs. Muggins ! " That lady did not exhibit much emotion . " Yes , sir . " And Mrs. Muggins ambled out of the room- door , to which she had been summoned by some peremptory ...
Сторінка 17
... being " dead and forgotten , " and if it troubled her . Lost in the aromatic fumes of a regalia , I sat waiting the advent of my friend Barescythe - Barry for short - to whom I had addressed a laconic 2 * PROLOGUE . 17.
... being " dead and forgotten , " and if it troubled her . Lost in the aromatic fumes of a regalia , I sat waiting the advent of my friend Barescythe - Barry for short - to whom I had addressed a laconic 2 * PROLOGUE . 17.
Сторінка 18
... Barescythe . He is conceited , but that's a small fault with genius . His idea of literature does not exactly chime with mine , for he believes that there have been no novels , to speak of , since Scott's , and little poetry since ...
... Barescythe . He is conceited , but that's a small fault with genius . His idea of literature does not exactly chime with mine , for he believes that there have been no novels , to speak of , since Scott's , and little poetry since ...
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Daisy's Necklace: and what Came of it: (a Literary Episode.) Thomas Bailey Aldrich Повний перегляд - 1857 |
Daisy's Necklace: And what Became of it ; (a Literary Episode) Thomas Bailey Aldrich Повний перегляд - 1857 |
Daisy's Necklace: and what Came of it: (a Literary Episode.) Thomas Bailey Aldrich Повний перегляд - 1857 |
Загальні терміни та фрази
angel ANNE RADCLIFFE arms asked Attorney at Law Barescythe Barry beautiful Blackwell's Island bosom child chirography cloth cold cravat cried Daisy Snarle DAISY'S NECKLACE dead DERBY & JACKSON'S door dream edition Edward Walters eyes face father feet fell fingers Flint & Snarle flowers gold grew hair hand Hardwill heard heart Heaven human voice illustrated innocent eyes JACKSON'S PUBLICATIONS John Flint laugh LAURENCE STERNE light lips little Bell looked Michel morning Mortimer Mortimer's Muggins Nanny neck never night novel old house pale paper pearls pleasant poet POETICAL poor portrait Printem & Sellem Ralph reader replied romance SAME-full gilt sides shadow sides and edges sitting sleep smile Snarle's soul speak stairs stood strange sunshine sweet Sycorax tell Theocritus thought touched turned twilight voice watched weary wild wind window wonder words young
Популярні уривки
Сторінка 134 - Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast, As down she knelt for Heaven's grace and boon; Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest, And on her silver cross soft amethyst, And on her hair a glory, like a saint: She seem'da splendid angel, newly drest, Save wings, for heaven: Porphyro grew faint: She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint.
Сторінка 90 - Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me. O well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play!
Сторінка 196 - Our revels now are ended... These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air, And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind: we are such stuff As dreams are made on; and our little life Is rounded with a sleep..
Сторінка 134 - Anon his heart revives: her vespers done, Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees; Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one; Loosens her fragrant boddice; by degrees Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees: Half-hidden, like a mermaid in seaweed, Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees, In fancy, fair St.
Сторінка 134 - Of fruits and flowers and bunches of knot-grass, And diamonded with panes of quaint device, Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes As are the tiger-moth's deep-damask'd wings ; And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries And twilight saints and dim emblazonings, A shielded 'scutcheon blush'd with blood of queens and kings.
Сторінка 130 - FULL knee-deep lies the winter snow, And the winter winds are wearily sighing : Toll ye the church-bell sad and slow, And tread softly and speak low, For the old year lies a-dying.
Сторінка 91 - O well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play ! O well for the sailor lad, That he sings in his boat on the bay ! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill ; But O for the touch of a...
Сторінка 90 - O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, And the sound of a voice that is still ! Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea ! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me.
Сторінка 130 - Toll ye the church-bell sad and slow And tread softly and speak low, For the old year lies a-dying. Old year, you must not die; You came to us so readily, You lived with us so steadily, Old year, you shall not die.
Сторінка 134 - ST AGNES' Eve — Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold; The hare limped trembling through the frozen grass, And silent was the flock in woolly fold; Numb were the Beadsman's fingers, while he told His rosary, and while his frosted breath, Like pious incense from a censer old, Seemed taking flight for heaven, without a death, Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith.