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Maida, whose name is immortalized as the favourite of Sir Walter Scott, was a Scottish greyhound. The Irish is the largest of all the western breeds, and is supposed to owe this distinction to mingling with the great Danish dog. To it Ireland owes the extirpation of wolves, and itself now scarcely exists but in name.
Laura paused before she asked this last question and darted one of her sideways looks at Maida. “She thinks I haven’t any toilet-set and she wants to make me say so,” Maida thought. “Ivory,” she said aloud. “Ivory! I shouldn’t think that would be very pretty.” Laura opened her bureau drawers, one at a time, and showed Maida the pretty clothes packed in neat piles there.
"Come and see me early early, Prince," said the Countess. "Yes. But I am not 'Prince' to you now. I am 'Otto." "Otto, then." So I got them away, leaving the man behind, to his own devices, and at the door I had the joy of wrapping Maida in my big coat. How glad I was that I had brought it!
Everywhere to every deepest recess of the city to every inner room where to escape it many had fled its deadly choking breath was penetrating. Within the palace was turmoil. We had an air-vehicle on a landing-stage nearby; but Georg and Maida would not leave at once. Rulers of the Central State, as a Director might stick to his crumbling Tower, they stayed now in the Great City.
At one o’clock the umbrellas began to file out of the school door. The street looked as if it had grown a monster crop of shiny black toad-stools. But it was the only sign of life that the neighborhood showed for the rest of the day. The storm was too violent for even the big boys and girls to brave. A very long afternoon went by. Not a customer came into the shop. Maida felt very lonely.
Nicholas Mirandolet British subject born in Malta educated in England a licentiate of the Royal College of Surgeons and of the Royal College of Physicians in private practice at Portsdown Road, Maida Vale, for the last ten years. "I believe you were called to the deceased by the last witness, Dr. Mirandolet?" asked the Coroner. "Just so! Will you tell us what you found?"
The Doyles and the Dores lived in one house next to the Clarks, Molly and Tim on the first floor, Dicky and Delia above. Maida became very fond of the Doyle children. Like Betsy, they were too young to go to school and she saw a good deal of them in the lonely school hours. The puddle was an endless source of amusement to them.
In Wentworth Street, amid dead cabbage-leaves, and mud, and refuse, and orts, and offal, stood the woe-begone Meckisch, offering his puny sponges, and wooing the charitable with grinning grimaces tempered by epileptic fits at judicious intervals. A few inches off, his wife in costly sealskin jacket, purchased salmon with a Maida Vale manner.
“Why do you call Maida, ‘Petronilla’?” Dicky asked him curiously one day when Maida had run home for more paper. “Petronilla is the name of a little girl in a fairy-tale that I read when I was a little boy,” Billy answered. “And was she like Maida?” Arthur asked. “Very.” “How?” Rosie inquired.
Moreover, the success at Maida, the general rising of the Calabrias that speedily followed, and Stuart's capture of Reggio, Cortone, and other towns, with large stores and forty cannon destined for the conquest of Sicily, scattered to the winds the French hope of carrying Sicily by a coup de main.
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