Memoirs of the Life of Sir Walter Scott, Bart, Volum 7R. Cadell, 1839 |
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Memoirs of the Life of Sir Walter Scott, Bart, Volum 7 John Gibson Lockhart Uten tilgangsbegrensning - 1838 |
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66 Abbotsford 66 My Dear Abbotsford Adam Fergusson admirable affectionate attainders Author of Waverley Baillie ballad Ballantyne Bannatyne Club beautiful believe called Captain Castle Street character clans Club Constable course Dear Terry delighted dinner doubt drawing-room Duke Edgeworthstown Edinburgh excellent favour feelings fortune Galashiels give happy heard Highland honour hope Jane Joanna Baillie kind King King's labour Lady letter literary London look Lord Byron Lord Montagu Lordship Majesty manner matter Melrose Melrose Abbey mind Miss Edgeworth morning never occasion party perhaps person Peveril pleasure poet poor present Quentin Durward romance Ronan's Roxburghe Club royal scene Scotch Scotland Scottish seems Sir Walter Scott soon Sophia sort St Ronan's story sure taste thing tion Tom Purdie trees Waverley Novels whole window wish wood write young
Populære avsnitt
Side 176 - Never did I see a brighter day at Abbotsford than that on which Miss Edgeworth first arrived there — never can I forget her look and accent when she was received by him at his archway, and exclaimed, "Everything about you is exactly what one ought to have had wit enough to dream...
Side 127 - he soon turned his needle into a sword, and his thimble into a shield/' and raised himself to knighthood, in the service of Edward III. After accumulating great wealth and fame in the predatory wars of Italy, he died in 1393, at Florence, where his funeral was celebrated with magnificence amidst the general lamentations of the people. — See " The Honourable Prentice, or the Life and Death of Sir John Hawkwood,
Side 196 - As clever Tom Clinch, while the rabble was bawling, Rode stately through Holborn to die in his calling, He stopt at the George for a bottle of sack, And promised to pay for it when he came back.
Side 170 - Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead Are but as pictures; 'tis the eye of childhood That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal; For it must seem their guilt.
Side 184 - The first dawn of a humorous thought would show itself sometimes, as he sat silent, by an involuntary lengthening of the upper lip, followed by a shy sidelong glance "at his neighbours, indescribably whimsical, and seeming to ask from their looks whether the spark of drollery should be suppressed or allowed to blaze out. In the full tide of mirth he did indeed
Side 96 - When ance life's day draws near the gloamin', ' and yet we proceed with our plantations and plans as if any tree but the sad cypress would accompany us to the grave, where our friends have gone before us. It is the way of the world, however, and must be so; otherwise life would be spent in unavailing mourning for those whom we have lost. It is better to enjoy the society of those who remain to us.
Side 71 - Embroider'd lies, nothing between two dishes ; These are the pleasures here. True earnest sorrows, rooted miseries, Anguish in grain, vexations ripe and blown...
Side 167 - if one could look into the heart of that little cluster of cottages, no fear but you would find materials enow for tragedy as well as comedy. I undertake to say there is some real romance at this moment going on down there, that, if it could have justice done to it, would be well worth all the fiction that was ever spun out of human brains.
Side 52 - He was a man of middle age ; In aspect manly, grave, and sage, As on king's errand come; But in the glances of his eye, A penetrating, keen, and sly Expression found its home; The flash of that satiric rage, Which, bursting on the early stage, Branded the vices of the age, And broke the keys of Rome.
Side 17 - It is worth while to come, were it but to see what a romance of a house I am making, which is neither to be castle nor abbey (God forbid!) but an old Scottish manorhouse. I believe Atkinson is in despair with my whims, for he cries out yes — yes — yes, in a tone which exactly signifies no — no — no, by no manner of means Believe me always, my dear Lord, most gratefully yours, WAITER SCOTT.