New Monthly Magazine, and Universal Register, Volume 163

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Henry Colburn, 1878

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Page 151 - Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy; For the apparel oft proclaims the man, And they in France of the best rank and station Are most select and generous, chief in that.
Page 466 - Wednesday. Doth he feel it ? No. Doth he hear it ? No. Is it insensible then ? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? No. Why? Detraction will not suffer it : — therefore I'll none of it : Honour is a mere scutcheon/ and so ends my catechism.
Page 240 - Drink no longer water, but use a little wine for thy stomach's sake and thine often infirmities.
Page 180 - Their glory disappear. A Power is passing from the earth To breathless Nature's dark abyss; But when the great and good depart What is it more than this — That Man, who is from God sent forth, Doth yet again to God return?
Page 252 - When a sufficient number of persons impanelled, or tales-men, appear, they are then separately sworn well and truly to try the issue between the parties, and a true verdict to give according to the evidence; and hence they are denominated the jury, jurata, and jurors, sc.
Page 95 - Genuine and innocent wit like this, is surely the flavour of the mind! Man could direct his ways by plain reason, and support his life by tasteless food ; but God has given us wit, and flavour, and brightness, and laughter, and perfumes, to enliven the days of man's pilgrimage, and to " charm his pained steps over the burning marie.
Page 124 - Yet, should rising whirlwinds tear From its stem the ripening ear ; Should the fig-tree's blasted shoot Drop her green untimely fruit...
Page 429 - The public roads were accurately divided by milestones, and ran in a direct line from one city to another, with very little respect for the obstacles either of nature or private property. Mountains were perforated, and bold arches thrown over the broadest and most rapid streams.
Page 281 - Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring! Even yet thou art to me No bird, but an invisible thing, A voice, a mystery...
Page 447 - Be not afeard ; the isle is full of noises, Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not. Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments Will hum about mine ears ; and sometimes voices, That, if I then had wak'd after long sleep, Will make me sleep again...

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