Notes and Queries

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Oxford University Press, 1911
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10. oldal - Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take, The clouds ye so much dread, Are big with mercy, and shall break In blessings on your head.
31. oldal - Wow strain I can do myself like any now going ; but the exquisite touch which renders ordinary common-place things and characters interesting from the truth of the description and the sentiment is denied to me.
114. oldal - THERE was a little girl, who had a little curl Right in the middle of her forehead, And when she was good, she was very, very good, But when she was bad she was horrid.
198. oldal - Who, with a toward or untoward lot, Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not— Plays, in the many games of life, that one...
185. oldal - In a word, the almighty dollar, that great object of universal devotion throughout our land, seems to have no genuine devotees in these peculiar villages...
369. oldal - Still from the sire the son shall hear Of the stern strife, and carnage drear, Of Flodden's fatal field. Where shiver'd was fair Scotland's spear, And broken was her shield ! XXXV.
397. oldal - For good undone and gifts misspent and resolutions vain, Tis somewhat late to trouble. This I know— I should live the same life over, if I had to live again; And the chances are I go where most men go.
62. oldal - O, that a man might know The end of this day's business, ere it come ! But it sufficeth, that the day will end, And then the end is known.
40. oldal - recollect that the Almighty, who gave the dog to be companion of our pleasures and our toils, hath invested him with a nature noble and incapable of deceit. He forgets neither friend nor foe, remembers, and with accuracy, both benefit and injury. He hath a share of man's intelligence, but no share of man's falsehood. You may bribe a soldier to slay a man with his sword, or a witness to take life by false accusation ; but you cannot make a hound tear his benefactor : he is the friend of man, save...
303. oldal - These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof Self-poised, and scooped into ten thousand cells, Where light and shade repose, where music dwells Lingering — and wandering on as loth to die ; Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof That they were born for immortality.

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