London Society, 第 53 卷

William Clowes and Sons, 1888


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第 149 頁 - I fancied an austere little Joan of Arc marching in upon us, and rebuking our easy lives, our easy morals. She gave me the impression of being a very pure, and lofty, and highminded person. A great and holy reverence of right and truth seemed to be with her always.
第 150 頁 - In like manner, the imagination foretells things. We spake anon of the inflated style of some writers. What also if there is an afflated style, — when a writer is like a Pythoness on her oracle tripod, and mighty words, words which he cannot help, come blowing, and bellowing, and whistling, and moaning through the speaking pipes of his bodily organ...
第 65 頁 - A jest's prosperity lies in the ear • Of him that hears it, never in the tongue Of him that makes it : then, if sickly ears, Deaf 'd with the clamours of their own dear groans.
第 149 頁 - ... the myriads of souls that have lived and died on this great earth — this great earth? — this little speck in the infinite universe of God, — with what wonder do we think of to-day, with what awe await to-morrow, when that which is now but darkly seen shall be clear...
第 247 頁 - ... how good and how pleasant a thing it is for brethren to dwell together in unity ;" and what they have learned they practise.
第 151 頁 - Of course he spoke with an Irish brogue. Of course he had been in the army. In ten minutes he pulled out an Army Agent's account, whereon his name was written. A few months after we read of him in a police-court.
第 151 頁 - may I offer you a glass of brandy-and-water? " "Bedad, ye may," says he, "and I'll sing ye a song tu.
第 152 頁 - But spurned in vain; youth waneth by increasing; Beauty, strength, youth are flowers but fading seen; Duty, faith, love are roots, and ever green. His helmet now shall make a hive for bees; And, lovers...
第 152 頁 - ... little printer's boy, with the last scratches and corrections on the proof, and a fine flourish by way of Finis at the story's end. The last corrections ? I say those last corrections seem never to be finished. A plague upon the weeds ! Every day, when I walk in my own little literary garden-plot, I spy some, and should like to have a spud, and root them out. Those idle words, neighbour, are past remedy. That turning back to the old pages produces anything but elation of mind. Would you not pay...
第 633 頁 - Whoso casteth a stone at the birds frayeth them away ; and he that upbraideth his friend, breaketh friendship. Though thou drawest a sword at a friend, yet despair not, for there may be a returning to favour. If thou hast opened thy mouth against thy friend, fear not, for there may be a reconciliation; except for upbraiding, or pride, or disclosing of secrets, or a treacherous wound ; for, for these things every friend will depart.