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Review: The Sketch-Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent.User Review - Timothy Ferguson - Goodreads
The Sketch-Book of Geoffery Crayon, Gent. by Washington Irving was revolutionary in its time, and I've meant to read or listen to it for a few years, but I feel its main appeal factors have been ... Read full review
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Review: The Sketch-Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent.User Review - Goodreads
Irving is a much better writer than people think, and his nonfiction is as good as or better than his fiction. The Sketch-Book is a collection of essays with three ghost stories merged in. Two are ...
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abbey ancient antiquated baron beautiful bosom Bracebridge Canonchet castle character charm Christmas church cottage countenance custom Dame dance delight door earth Eastcheap Edward the Confessor England English Falstaff fancy father feelings flowers goblin grave green hall hand head heard heart horse humor hung Ichabod Ichabod Crane Indian Irving John Bull kind lady land Little Britain living look mansion Master Simon melancholy ment merry mind mingled monuments mountain Narragansets nature neighborhood neighboring never night noble old English old gentleman once passed Philip poet POKANOKET poor pride quiet Rip Van Winkle round rural scene seated seemed Shakspeare Sleepy Hollow song sorrow soul sound spectre spirit squire story sweet tender thing thought tion tomb tower trees turn village wandering WASHINGTON IRVING Wassail Westminster Abbey whole wild window Winkle worthy writers young
Page 203 - With fairest flowers, Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, I'll sweeten thy sad grave : thou shalt not lack The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose ; nor The azured hare-bell, like thy veins ; no, nor The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, Out-sweeten'd not thy breath...
Page 68 - Alas! gentlemen," cried Rip, somewhat dismayed, "I am a poor quiet man, a native of the place, and a loyal subject of the king, God bless him!" Here a general shout burst from the bystanders — "A tory! a tory! a spy! a refugee! hustle him! away with him!
Page 77 - Methinks I see, in my mind, a noble and puissant nation rousing herself, like a strong man after sleep, and shaking her invincible locks: methinks I see her as an eagle muing her mighty youth, and kindling her undazzled eyes at the full midday beam...
Page 67 - He recognized on the sign, however, the ruby face of King George, under which he had smoked so many a peaceful pipe ; but even this was singularly metamorphosed. The red coat was changed for one of blue and buff, a sword was held in the hand instead of a sceptre, the head was decorated with a cocked hat, and underneath was painted in large characters, GENERAL WASHINGTON.
Page 58 - ... green knoll, covered with mountain herbage, that crowned the brow of a precipice. From an opening between the trees he could overlook all the lower country for many a mile of rich woodland. He saw at a distance the lordly Hudson, far, far below him, moving on its silent but majestic course, with the reflection of a purple cloud, or the sail of a lagging bark,* here and there sleeping on its glassy bosom, and at last losing itself in the blue highlands.
Page 74 - He used to tell his story to every stranger that arrived at Mr. Doolittle's hotel. He was observed, at first, to vary on some points every time he told it, which was, doubtless, owing to his having so recently awaked. It at last settled down precisely to the tale I have related, and not a man, woman, or child in the neighborhood but knew it by heart.
Page 59 - Rip Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!" — at the same time Wolf bristled up his back and giving a low growl, skulked to his master's side, looking fearfully down into the glen. Rip now felt a vague apprehension stealing over him; he looked anxiously in the same direction and perceived a strange figure slowly toiling up the rocks and bending under the weight of something he carried on his back. He was surprised to see any human being in this lonely and unfrequented place, but supposing it to be some one...
Page 375 - Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise: Arise, arise.
Page 482 - ... band of chosen singers ; where, in his own mind, he completely carried away the palm from the parson. Certain it is, his voice resounded far above all the rest of the congregation ; and there are peculiar quavers still to be heard in that church, and which may even be heard half a mile off, quite to the opposite side of the mill-pond, on a still Sunday morning, which are said to be legitimately descended from the nose of Ichabod Crane. Thus, by divers little makeshifts in that ingenious way which...
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