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This neighborhood used to be the best in town. It is still far from being the worst neighborhood in town, but it is, as it has been for several years, deteriorating. The establishment of a Turkish bath on one corner and a grocery-store on the other has taken away much of that air of refinement which characterized it when the block was devoted to residential purposes entirely.
A transfigured cattle-pen Emerson the hub of Concord His incorrigible modesty Grocery-store sages To make common men feel more like Emerson than he did His personal appearance His favorite gesture A glance like the reveille of a trumpet The creaking boots "The muses are in the woods" Emerson could not read Hawthorne Typical versus individual Benefit from child-prattle Concord-grape Bull Sounds of distant battle Politics, sociology, and grape- culture The great white fence Richard Henry Stoddard A country youth of genius Whipple's Attic salt An unwritten romance The consulship retires literature Louisa's tragedy Hard hit The spiritual sphere of good men Nearer than in the world The return of the pilgrim.
I don't know how I'd look at it now, because I'm not so nimble footed as I used to be, nor so full of mischief." "If there had been many more such fools in your neighborhood," remarked Mr. Thimblefinger, "you could have set up a grocery-store." There was a little pause, and then Mrs. Meadows, looking around, exclaimed: "Just look yonder, will you?"
She heard Judith asking in an astonished voice, "Why, what makes you think so?" and she listened with a tortured attention to the statement vouchsafed in an excited chorus by a great many shrill little voices that the Fingáls' old cook had taken a little too much whiskey for once and had fallen to babbling at the grocery-store before a highly entertained audience of neighbors, about the endless peregrinations of the Fingál family in search of a locality where the blood of the children would not be suspected "an' theah motheh, fo' all heh good looks, second cousin to Mattice!" she had tittered foolishly, gathering up her basket and rolling tipsily out of the store.
Comrade Abell's office and also his home were in a second story, over a grocery-store in this neighborhood, and here also was a little hall used as a meeting-place by the Socialists. Every Saturday night Abell and two or three of his friends conducted a soap-box meeting on Western City Street, and gave away propaganda leaflets and sold a few pamphlets and books.
We used to hold imaginary conversations in the person of some favorite characters in fiction; but we were very young and boyish." Perry glanced at me sheepishly, but George went on without noticing: "Phil's father lived here, and was proprietor of the only wholesale grocery-store the town then boasted of. He had been captain of a volunteer company in the war, and, I fancy, had a romance too.
After standing for a moment to get ready his surly voice, he kicked upon the gate and a man came out of a shack inside. "What do you want?" said he. "I want to get in. I'm looking for a job." "Where do you come from?" "From Pedro." "Where you been working?" "I never worked in a mine before." "Where did you work?" "In a grocery-store." "What grocery-store?" "Peterson & Co., in Western City."
The constable, who was also coroner of our township, had gone to a creek, three miles away, to hold an inquest, and there was nobody to arrest the man. The nearest police-station was at Hackingford, six miles away, on the railroad. I held a consultation with the station-master, and the gentleman who kept the grocery-store opposite.
Lopez and his troop approached the town in the early morning. As they deployed for the attack the colonel issued private instructions to certain members of his command. "O'Reilly, you and Senor Branch will enter one grocery-store after another. You will purchase that jam, those sardines, and whatever else you think Miss Evans would like.
Keyser told the story one evening at the grocery-store. Whether his narrative is strictly true or not is uncertain. There is a bare possibility that Mr. Keyser may have exaggerated grossly a very simple fact. "Nobody ever knew how it got in there," said Mr. Keyser, clasping his hands over his knee and spitting into the stove.
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