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ANNUAL appear arrived Author Black bottle brought Burn called chair comes Companion CONTAINING copy course cried Crooked Lane Cynic d'ye think dear Designs Ditto Doctor door Dowdum Edition engravings eyes feel field fish friends give gone Guide hand head hear heard honour Hood human ILLUSTRATIONS It's lady late leave letters live London look Lord Lord Durham's return Ma'am Madam matter mean meet Miss morning mother nature never night once orders Plates play poor present published Quakers question Reform ROAD round the Square seemed Shillings side soon sort Sporting Straight street sure There's thing thought took town train tree turn volume wanted watch whole wish
Page ix - He gained from heaven ('twas all he wished) a friend. No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose) The bosom of his father and his God.
Page vii - Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds ; Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower, The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign.
Page viii - There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noon-tide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
Page ix - One morn I missed him on the customed hill, Along the heath, and near his favourite tree ; Another came : nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he : The next, with dirges due in sad array Slow through the churchway path we saw him borne, — Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
Page viii - Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd muse, The place of fame and elegy supply : And many a holy text around she strews That teach the rustic moralist to die.
Page vii - The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds...
Page viii - Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray; Along the cool sequester'd vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
Page 94 - ... rug. Last night I had a curious dream, Miss Susan Bates...
Page 84 - Straight down the Crooked Lane, And all round the Square.