The Atlantic Monthly, Volum 55,Del 2Atlantic Monthly Company, 1885 |
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admirable ain't American asked ATLANTIC MONTHLY beauty Boston character Charles Egbert Craddock charm cloth Cuautla Dale Dick Dick Dale Doris edition England English eyes father feel gilt top girl give hand Hawthorne HOUGHTON illustrations interest John Julian Hawthorne knew lady laugh letters light literary literature living looked Madame Mohl Madame Récamier Markland matter ment MIFFLIN AND COMPANY mind Minnie Miss Mohl's morning mother nature never night Oliver Wendell Holmes Omar Khayyám once Owen perhaps person poems poet Portrait Ralph Waldo Emerson reader rector RICHARD GRANT WHITE Rick Tyler salon Scene seemed story style talk tell thar Theo thing thought tion trees turned Vernon Lee volume Warrender wife woman words writing York young
Populære avsnitt
Side 274 - ... as good almost kill a man as kill a good book; who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God's image; but he who destroys a good book, kills reason itself, kills the image of God, as it were, in the eye.
Side 115 - Yon rising Moon that looks for us again — How oft hereafter will she wax and wane ; How oft hereafter rising look for us Through this same Garden — and for one in vain ! ci.
Side 114 - Chequer-board of Nights and Days; Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays, And one by one back in the Closet lays.
Side 166 - Thou fliest thy vocal vale, An annual guest in other lands, Another spring to hail. Sweet bird ! thy bower is ever green, Thy sky is ever clear ; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, No winter in thy year...
Side 114 - We are no other than a moving row Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go Round with the Sun-illumined Lantern held In Midnight by the Master of the Show...
Side 259 - Ah shameless ! for he did but sing A song that pleased us from its worth ; No public life was his on earth, No blazon'd statesman he, nor king. He gave the people of his best : His worst he kept, his best he gave.
Side 250 - I was at ease, but he hath broken me asunder : He hath also taken me by my neck, and shaken me to pieces, And set me up for his mark. His archers compass me round about, He cleaveth my reins asunder, and doth not spare ; He poureth out my gall upon the ground.
Side 387 - A Midsummer Night's Dream, The Merchant of Venice, The Merry Wives of Windsor, Much Ado about Nothing, As You Like It, Twelfth Night...
Side 114 - Why, be this Juice the growth of God, who dare Blaspheme the twisted tendril as a Snare? A Blessing, we should use it, should we not? And if a Curse — why, then, Who set it there?