Once a Week, Volume 11

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Eneas Sweetland Dallas
Bradbury and Evans, 1864
 

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Page 167 - As for jest, there be certain things which ought to be privileged from it; namely, religion, matters of state, great persons, any man's present business of importance, and any case that deserveth pity.
Page 66 - Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them : they shall not be ashamed when they speak with their enemies in the gate.
Page 501 - Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
Page 501 - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him ; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him.
Page 346 - For as he thinketh in his heart, so is he: Eat and drink, saith he to thee; but his heart is not with thee.
Page 345 - The communication by the glance is in the greatest part not subject to the control of the will. It is the bodily symbol of identity of nature. "We look into the eyes to know if this other form is another self, and the eyes will not lie, but make a faithful confession what inhabitant is there.
Page 360 - A short, white, full skirt, with a furbelow, not so long but that the neatest little feet were visible up to the ankle...
Page 12 - Peters; others also were nominated, but none concluded. Robert Spavin, so soon as dinner was done, took me by the hand, and carried me to the south window : saith he, " These are all mistaken, they have not named the man that did the fact: it was lieutenant-colonel...
Page 528 - as the white man's rat has driven away the native rat, so the European fly drives away our own; and as the clover kills our fern, so will the Maori disappear before the white man himself.
Page 132 - Love took up the glass of Time, and turned it in his glowing hands ; Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands. Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, passed in music out of sight.

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