Scribner's Magazine, Volume 48

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Charles Scribners Sons, 1910
 

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Page 694 - So Martha hid herself, and in came little Bob, the father, with at least three feet of comforter exclusive of the fringe, hanging down before him; and his threadbare clothes darned up and brushed, to look seasonable; and Tiny Tim upon his shoulder. Alas for Tiny Tim, he bore a little crutch, and had his limbs supported by an iron frame! "Why, where's our Martha?" cried Bob Cratchit, looking round. "Not coming,
Page 93 - I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint; my heart is like wax: it is melted in the midst of my bowels. My strength is dried up like a potsherd; and my tongue cleaveth to my jaws; and thou hast brought me into the dust of death.
Page 314 - If you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains And the women come out to cut up what remains, Just roll to your rifle and blow out your brains, And go to your death like a soldier.
Page 378 - O we can wait no longer, We too take ship O soul, Joyous we too launch out on trackless seas, Fearless for unknown shores on waves of ecstasy to sail, Amid the wafting winds, (thou pressing me to thee, I thee to me, O soul,) Caroling free, singing our song of God, Chanting our chant of pleasant exploration.
Page 117 - I express to you my sincere congratulations that, without appealing to the help of friendly powers, you and your people have succeeded in repelling with your own forces the armed bands which had broken into your country and in maintaining the independence of your country
Page 378 - Sail forth — steer for the deep waters only, Reckless O soul, exploring, I with thee, and thou with me, For we are bound where mariner has not yet dared to go, And we will risk the ship, ourselves and all. O my brave soul ! O farther farther sail ! O daring joy, but safe ! are they not all the seas of God? O farther, farther, farther sail ! PRAYER OF COLUMBUS.
Page 375 - Ay, of all the artists living, loving, None but would forego his proper dowry — Does he paint? he fain would write a poem — Does he write? he fain would paint a picture...
Page 634 - He came in here,' said the waiter, looking at the light through the tumbler, 'ordered a glass of this ale - would order it - I told him not - drank it, and fell dead. It was too old for him. It oughtn't to be drawn; that's the fact.' I was very much shocked to hear of this melancholy accident, and said I thought I had better have some water. 'Why you see...
Page 143 - ... his fellows, the leader reached throwing distance, the long spear flickered and plunged. As the lion felt the wound he half turned, and then flung himself on the man in front. The warrior threw his spear. It drove deep into the life, for entering at one shoulder it came out of the opposite flank, near the thigh, a yard of steel through the great body. Rearing, the lion struck the man, bearing down the shield, his back arched, and for a moment, he slaked his fury with fang and talon. But on the...
Page 224 - Dan said to the silky lengths of the girl's hair, knowing, too, the exact size and shape the flask would be. "Sometimes when they fall, it cuts them up right through their clothes." "You're sharp, aren't you, kid?" the girl said. For the first time now she looked up at him, and he saw that her eyes were wide and dark and stormy, and her brows and lashes were smudged like charcoal across her face. "I happen to live in this city,

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