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When he saw Sue's figure, dressed in white, a dim, pale, flashing thing, coming down steps toward him, he wanted to run away, to hide himself in the darkness. And he wanted also to run toward her, to kneel at her feet, not because she was Sue but because she was human and like himself filled with human perplexities. He did neither of the two things. The boy of Caxton was still alive within him.
On the other hand, did not Lawyer Cool, the most prudent man in the three kingdoms, Lawyer Cool, who was so methodical that all the clocks in the county were set by his watch, plunge one morning head over heels into a frantic speculation for cultivating the bogs in Ireland? No, Mr. Caxton, you will stay at home and take a soothing preparation I shall send you, of lettuce-leaves and marshmallows.
The Pales and Terminus I wish you to put up in the fields are familiar images, that you may cut out of an oak tree, not beautiful marble statues, on porphyry pedestals, twenty feet high." PISISTRATUS. "Miss Austen; Mrs. Gore, in her masterpiece of 'Mrs. Armytage; Mrs. Caxton, can't even construe a line and a half of Phaedrus, Phaedrus, Mrs.
It would have done your heart good to hear them, so completely, in the inconsistency of human nature, had they changed sides upon the question, my father now all for Sir William de Caxton, the hero of Bosworth; my uncle all for the immortal printer. And in this discussion they grew animated their eyes sparkled, their voices rose, Roland's voice deep and thunderous, Austin's sharp and piercing. Mr.
My mother continued, after a short pause., "Arthur is a pretty name. Then there 's William Henry Charles Robert. What shall it be, love?" "Pisistratus! a very fine name," said my mother, joyfully, "Pisistratus Caxton. Thank you, my love: Pisistratus it shall be." "Do you contradict me? Do you side with Wolfe and Heyne and that pragmatical fellow Vico? Do you mean to say that the Rhapsodists "
In 1871 a San Francisco paper published a tale entitled The Case of Summerfield. The author concealed himself under the name of "Caxton," a pseudonym unknown at the time. The story made an immediate impression, and the remote little world by the Golden Gate was shaken into startled and enquiring astonishment. Wherever people met, The Case of Summerfield was on men's tongues.
"You see you have a fine choice here, and of a nature pleasing, and not unfamiliar, to a classical reader; or you may borrow a hint from the early dramatic writers." "Ay, there is something in the Drama akin to the Novel. Now, perhaps, I may catch an idea." "Well, sir?" MR. CAXTON. "And called it 'The Pain of the Sleep of the World." PISISTRATUS. "Very comic, indeed, sir."
A mother, sir, a simple, natural, loving mother, is the infant's true guide to knowledge." "Egad! Mr. Caxton, in spite of Helvetius, whom you quoted the night the boy was born, egad! I believe you are right." "I am sure of it," said my father, "at least as sure as a poor mortal can be of anything. I agree with Helvetius, the child should be educated from its birth; but how?
The poor inventor's only legacy to his surviving relative was the common property of almost all inventors like himself wasted youth, a persecuted life, a name aspersed, toil, watchings, and the oblivion of his contemporaries. William Caxton, to whom England owes the introduction of printing, was born, according to his own statement, in the Weald of Kent.
Caxton, a book which is in Latin what Goody Two-Shoes is in the vernacular!" "Fie! Austin I I am sure you can construe Phaedrus, dear!" Pisistratus prudently preserves silence. MR. CAXTON. "I'll try him "'Sua cuique quum sit animi cogitatio Colurque proprius. "What does that mean?" "His own novel," interrupted my father. "/Contentus peragis!/"
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