The Professor at the Breakfast-table: With the Story of Iris

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Ticknor and Fields, 1860 - 410 Seiten
 

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Seite 59 - HAS there any old fellow got mixed with the boys? If there has, take him out, without making a noise. Hang the Almanac's cheat and the Catalogue's spite! Old Time is a liar! We're twenty to-night! We're twenty! We're twenty! Who says we are more? He's tipsy, — young jackanapes! — show him the door! "Gray temples at twenty?
Seite 226 - I pass, like night, from land to land; I have strange power of speech ; That moment that his face I see, I know the man that must hear me: To him my tale I teach.
Seite 331 - ... something less than senile, as to whether he should be guilty of an impropriety, and, if he were, whether he would get caught in his indiscretion. And yet the memory of the kiss that Margaret of Scotland gave to Alain Chartier has lasted four hundred years, and put it into the head of many an ill-favored poet, whether Victoria, or Eugenie, would do as much by him, if she happened to pass him when he was asleep. And have we ever forgotten that the fresh cheek of the young John Milton tingled under...
Seite 260 - So deeply had she drunken in That look, those shrunken serpent eyes, That all her features were resigned To this sole image in her mind: And passively did imitate That look of dull and treacherous hate!
Seite 60 - There's a boy we pretend, with a three-decker brain, That could harness a team with a logical chain; When he spoke for our manhood in syllabled fire, We called him "The Justice,
Seite 61 - Then here's to our boyhood, its gold and its gray! The stars of its winter, the dews of its May ! And when we have done with our life-lasting toys, Dear Father, take care of Thy children, the boys.
Seite 189 - THE TWO STREAMS. Behold the rocky wall That down its sloping sides Pours the swift rain-drops, blending, as they fall, In rushing river-tides ! Yon stream, whose sources run Turned by a pebble's edge, Is Athabasca, rolling toward the sun Through the cleft mountain-ledge. The slender rill had strayed, But for the slanting stone, To evening's ocean, with the tangled braid Of foam-flecked Oregon.
Seite 358 - Her sails hung unfilled, her streamers were drooping, she had neither sidewheel nor stern- wheel; still she moved on, stately, in serene triumph, as if with her own life. But I knew that on the other side of the ship, hidden beneath the great...
Seite 87 - We must have a weak spot or two in a character before we can love it much. People that do not laugh or cry, or take more of anything than is good for them, or use anything but dictionary words, are admirable subjects for biographies. But we don't always care most for those flat-pattern flowers that press best in the herbarium.
Seite 266 - Professor, on the other hand, am a regular church-goer. I should go for various reasons, if I did not love it ; but I am happy enough to find great pleasure in the midst of devout multitudes, whether I can accept all their creeds or not.

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