Books in GeneralA.A. Knopf, 1919 - 281 oldal "These papers are selections from a series contributed weekly ... to the New statesman since April, 1913."--Preface. Written by Sir John Collins under the name "Solomon Eagle". |
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Almayer's Folly amusing Anthony Hope appeared Archer artist Bacon beautiful bookseller called certainly character Charles Charles Lamb charming collected comic criticism deal death drink edition Encyclopædia Encyclopædia Britannica England English epigrams Euphues euphuism exhibition eyes fact feel German gives Gray heard heart honour interesting kind King Lady language Lennard letters lines literary literature live look Lord ment merely metrist modern music-hall music-hall songs never Norman yoke novelist novels one's perhaps persons poem poet poetry political Prince produced Professor Harper prose published Pumbles Queen RALPH HODGSON recitation reference remark remember rivers of Ireland sense sentence Shakespeare Sir Edwin sort Sotheby's spelling story suggest suppose table-talk Tadlow tell thing Thomas Hardy thou thought tion usually Utopias verse volume Walpole whole Whur William William Archer wonder words Wordsworth writing written wrote
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226. oldal - Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming down along the road and this moocow that was coming down along the road met a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo . . . His father told him that story: his father looked at him through a glass: he had a hairy face.
244. oldal - ... stupor stark Too deep for groping Heaven — And alleluias sweet and clear And wild with beauty men mishear, From choirs of song as near and dear To Paradise as they, The everlasting pipe and flute Of wind and sea and bird and brute, And lips deaf men imagine mute In wood and stone and clay : The music of a lion strong That shakes a hill a whole night long, A hill as loud as he, The twitter of a mouse among Melodious greenery, The ruby's and the rainbow's song, The nightingale's — all three,...
244. oldal - I stood and stared; the sky was lit, The sky was stars all over it, I stood, I knew not why, Without a wish, without a will, I stood upon that silent hill And stared into the sky until My eyes were blind with stars and still I stared into the sky.
148. oldal - I have always maintained, that any fool may write a most valuable book by chance, if he will only tell us what he heard and saw with veracity. Of Mr. Boswell's truth I have not the least suspicion, because I am sure he could invent nothing of this kind. The true title of this part of his work is, A Dialogue between a Green-goose and a Hero.
93. oldal - And no less ill-natured should I think Democritus, who laughed at all the world, but that he retired himself so much out of it that we may perceive he took no great pleasure in that kind of mirth. I have been drawn twice or thrice by company to go to Bedlam, and have seen others very much delighted with the fantastical...
147. oldal - Long Story" was to be totally omitted, as its only use (that of explaining the prints) was gone: but to supply the place of it in bulk, lest my works should be mistaken for the works of a flea, or a pismire, I promised to send him an equal weight of poetry or prose: so, since my return hither, I put up about two ounces of stuff, viz., the "Fatal Sisters...
29. oldal - Froude informs the Scottish youth That parsons do not care for truth. The Reverend Canon Kingsley cries: History is a pack of lies. What cause for judgments so malign? A brief reflection solves the mystery, Froude believes Kingsley's a divine, And Kingsley goes to Froude for history.
28. oldal - If the man who turnips cries, Cry not when his father dies, 'Tis a proof that he had rather Have a turnip than his father.
195. oldal - I say, there is not a red Indian, hunting by Lake Winnipic, can quarrel with his squaw, but the whole world must smart for it : will not the price of beaver rise?
93. oldal - Twould have been but ill spoken by Methusalem in the nine hundred sixty-ninth year of his life, so far it is from us, who have not time enough to attain to the utmost perfection of any part of any science, to have cause to complain that we are forced to be idle for want of work.