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Henry Colburn, 1826 - Parodies - 353 pages

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Page 118 - Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow ; Rase out the written troubles of the brain ; And, with some sweet oblivious antidote, Cleanse the stuff 'd bosom of that perilous stuff, Which weighs upon the heart ? Doc.
Page 178 - Yet could I bear that too ; well, very well : — But there, where I have garner'd up my heart, Where either I must live or bear no life, The fountain from the which my current runs, Or else dries up ; to be discarded thence ! Or keep it as a cistern for foul toads To knot and gender in ! Turn thy complexion there, Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cherubin, Ay, there, look grim as hell ! Des.
Page 193 - I give the matter just as it comes to hand—adhering with strictness even tn the punctuation.—Editor. papers. From this laborious but useful drudgery he was promoted to purveyor of theatrical critiques, and other occasional paragraphs; in which his power of thought and of style soon shone out in a manner not a little marvellous in the eyes of those who had hitherto looked to the Morning Post for their beau-ideal of such matters. There can be little doubt that we owe almost entirely to him the...
Page 285 - ... hour she was a woman, the next, a child, a baby, a simpleton; with hardly wit enough to keep herself out of the fire. Now, she would be found sitting in a corner, alone; purple with cold ; poring over some great, heavy, serious book, such as no other child, of her age, ever thought of poring over; and, after a little time, perhaps, cuddled up in a heap, with her loose hair falling about her face; pouting and sobbing over some poor two-penny ballad, such as no other child ever thought of sobbing...
Page 192 - But though no one else was dissatisfied with the progress he made in painting, he himself was. He did not see why he should be inferior to any man; and when he found that he was so, he threw up his pencil in disgust, and has never touched it si, ire.
Page 22 - T were now to be most happy ; for, I fear My soul hath her content so absolute, That not another comfort like to this Succeeds in unknown fate.
Page 290 - Say what you will, there is nothing to be compared with a scene of this kind — about an hour before sunset — in the depth of a great North American solitude;—a vast amphitheatre of wilderness, rock and mountain—after the trees are changed by the frost. People may talk of their fine Italian skies; of their hot, bright East Indian skies; of the deep midnight blue, of the South American skies. We have seen them all; slept under them all; slept under a sky, like one great moon; — worshipped...
Page 87 - IT was the middle of August ; the great gates of Belmont were thrown open by the obsequious porter at the lodge ; a barouche and four, well appointed, drove in at a gallop, and rapidly neared the hall, the steps of which were lined with servants ; and every thing denoted the arrival of a man of consequence, at his seat in the country. It was TREMAINE...

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