Woman in America: Her Work and Her RewardD. Appleton, 1850 - 155 Seiten McIntosh argues that women are responsible for the moral fiber of society and for the socialization of future generations. |
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50 cents accomplished advance American animalcule Appleton & Company ARNOLD'S attained beauty become Book character charm Christian Church civilization claim clasp cloth 75 COMPLETE POETICAL cultivation despotism destiny divine dwell earth Edited Egeria elegant endurance England English equality evil faith fashion feeling feudalism forms French German gilt edges give grace hand heart Heaven higher History History of Rome Illustrated influence institutions intelligent labor Lamartine land less live look lustrated luxury M'INTOSH Mary Howitt ment mind moral morocco extra mould nations nature noble nobler object paper cover 50 peculiar Plates political Portrait position present principles Reader refinement reverence Rome rude Rugby School simplicity social society soul South Southern spirit Steel Engravings style TALE TAYLOR'S thing thought tion tivate true truth Turkey morocco typhus fever Vicar of Wakefield vols wealth woman women young youth
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 3 - YE who listen with credulity to the whispers of fancy, and pursue with eagerness the phantoms of hope; who expect that age will perform the promises of youth, and that the deficiencies of the present day will be supplied by the morrow ; attend to the history of Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia.
Seite 124 - But, och ! it hardens a' within, And petrifies the feeling ! To catch dame Fortune's golden smile, Assiduous wait upon her ; And gather gear by ev'ry wile That's justified by honour; Not for to hide it in a hedge, Nor for a train attendant ; But for the glorious privilege Of being independent.
Seite 15 - Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, which to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, 0 ye of little faith?
Seite 147 - seventeen other persons' died of fever there in consequence. The humane Physician asks thereupon, as with a heart too full for speaking, Would it not have been economy to help this poor Widow? She took typhus-fever, and killed seventeen of you! - Very curious. The forlorn Irish Widow applies to her fellow-creatures, as if saying, 'Behold I am sinking, bare of help: ye must help me! I am your sister, bone of your bone; one God made us: ye must help me!' They answer, 'No, impossible; thou art no sister...