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Page 121 - Who hath woe ? who hath sorrow ? who hath contentions ? who hath babbling? who hath wounds without cause ? who hath redness of eyes ? They that tarry long at the wine ; they that go to seek mixed wine.
Page 175 - Oh! but to breathe the breath Of the cowslip and primrose sweet With the sky above my head, And the grass beneath my feet, For only one short hour To feel as I used to feel, Before I knew the woes of want And the walk that costs a meal!
Page 216 - Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth its color in the cup, when it moveth itself aright. At the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder.
Page 242 - tis slander; Whose edge is sharper than the sword ; whose tongue Outvenoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie All corners of the world : kings, queens, and states, Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave This viperous slander enters.
Page 250 - Shall we go and see her mother ?" " I wish you would to-morrow. She is not at home to-night. She has gone — at any rate she told me she would go to see a lady, a real good lady, who is worse off than my mother, for she is in a bad house, and she wants to get away ; she told me so to-day, and they will not let her. She is one of the best women in the world. She is a dress-maker, and she used to live so nice in Broome street, close by my mother, with another good girl, and that girl got married and...
Page 107 - the little sufferer we are going to see, fainted a few nights ago, and lay all night exposed to the rain, where she was found and beaten in the morning by her miserable mother, just then coming home from a night of debauch and licentiousness, with a man who would be ashamed to visit her in her habitation, or have ' the world' know that he consorted with a street wanderer.
Page 378 - Bank of the Republic, clothed in a poor dirty ragged dress, with that same little boy, sickly and pale, leaning upon his sister for support, and keeping her company as the two wandered through tho streets, making midnight melodious with that ever pealing summer cry, of, "Hot corn, hot corn, here's your nice hot corn, smoking hot, smoking hot, just from the pot, all hot, hot, hot!
Page 67 - If you would like to see it, saturate your handkerchief with camphor, so that you can endure the horrid stench, and enter. Grope your way through the long, dark, narrow passage — turn to your right, up the dark and dangerous stairway ; be careful where you place your foot around the lower step, or in the corners of the broad stairs, for it is more than shoe-mouth deep of steaming filth. Be careful too, or you may meet some...
Page 57 - I know them that swear the most will lie. Will you let the door stand open? If you will I will come in?' " 'Yes,' and in she came. " 'Now, what do you want I should do?' " ' There, do you look at me. I am laying out shirts for the women to sew. That pile, there, that is the body; this, the sleeves; that, the collar; these, the wristbands; these, the gussets; here are six buttons, and here is the thread to make it, and then it will be a shirt when made. Now, we roll it up and tie a string around it;...
Page 109 - Katy, darling," said the mother, " what is the matter ?" " Where is he, mother ? He is here. I heard him speak." . " Yes, yes, sweet little innocent, he is here, kneeling by your bedside. There, lay down, you are very sick." " Only once, just once, let me put my arms around your neck, and kiss you, just as I used to kiss papa. I had a papa once, when we lived in the big house — there, there. Oh, I did want to see you, to thank you for the bread and the cakes ; I was very hungry, and it did taste...

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