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As the bird paused a few yards from me, and began to chirp uneasily, my curiosity was at once excited. When I saw it was the female mourning ground warbler, and remembered that the nest of this bird had not yet been seen by any naturalist, that not even Dr. Brewer had ever seen the eggs, I felt that here was something worth looking for.
After Ottenburg was gone, Thea noticed that Bowers was more agreeable than usual. She had heard the young brewer ask Bowers to dine with him at his club that evening, and she saw that he looked forward to the dinner with pleasure. He dropped a remark to the effect that Fred knew as much about food and wines as any man in Chicago. He said this boastfully.
Her child falls ill, or she herself is unable, from the same cause, or from an accidental injury, to stand the necessary number of hours in the drenching rain; and so her stock is spoiled, and she suffers a greater calamity in her sphere than the brewer whose consignment of ale has turned sour on an India voyage.
"He said he would be in again to-morrow and that he wanted some time. Who is he? I like him better than the others." Bowers nodded. "So do I. He's not a singer. He's a beer prince: son of the big brewer in St. Louis. He's been in Germany with his mother. I didn't know he was back." "Does he take lessons?" "Now and again. He sings rather well.
Miss Jemima was peeping out from behind the window-curtain, with the eagerness of a girl. "Why," she exclaimed, as the occupants of the carriage began to alight, "it's Mr. and Mrs. Brownlow, the retired b ." "Brewer" she was going to say but checked herself. "Surely you will not think of going out now, Thomas?" "Cobbler" Horn knew Mr. and Mrs. Brownlow very well by sight.
These, living in an age of chivalry, when noble blood and lofty deeds were held in extraordinary respect, had little sympathy with the brewer of Ghent, and deemed it contrary to the fitness of things that the chivalry of France should have been defied and worsted by mere mechanics and artisans. But there can be no doubt that Artevelde was a very great man.
Coxwell, a Fallow field maltster, brewer, and farmer; creditors of various dimensions, all of them. Mr. Goren coming last, behind his spectacles. 'My son will be with you directly, to preside, said Mrs. Mel. 'Accept my thanks for the respect you have shown my husband. I wish you good morning. 'Morning, ma'am, answered several voices, and Mrs. Mel retired.
It was the evening of the second day since the arrival of the black letter in London from Lymport, and the wife of the brewer and the wife of the Major sat dropping tears into one another's laps, in expectation of their sister the Countess. Mr. Andrew Cogglesby had not yet returned from his office.
He freely confessed that he believed the plan madness, and Hoffman, too, told us we might as well attempt to get on a cloud as to try the peak. As Brewer gradually yielded his consent, I saw by his conversation that there was a possibility of success; so we spent the rest of the day in making preparations. Our walking shoes were in excellent condition, the hobnails firm and new.
She knew that the correspondence through the brewer was actively carried on, but she was not informed of what passed. Only she was aware that some crisis must be expected, for her mother was ceaselessly restless and full of expectation.
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