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His blue eyes twinkled above a carefully trimmed beard, and as he rose to meet me, I observed that the fingers on the cigarette were long, slender, and nervous. This was Monsieur Charles le Moine, the painter from Vait-hua, whose studio I had invaded in his absence from that delightful isle.
And so advantageous a doctrine is this, that our Fathers Annat, Pintereau, Le Moine, and A. Sirmond even, have defended it vigorously when assailed by any one.
De Cypre, le moine Hayton ayant passé
"Neaw, lort abbut," he cried, with a low, exulting laugh, "yo hanna brok'n yor word, an ey'n kept moine. Yo're free agen your will." "You have destroyed me by your mistaken zeal," cried the abbot, reproachfully. "Nowt o't sort," replied Hal; "ey'n saved yo' fro' destruction. This way, lort abbut this way."
"They air as thidck as broken heads at a Donnybrook fair." "Faix, ye's air a brither o' moine!" exclaimed Felix, grasping the hand of the captain. "Air ye's from the County Carhk?" "Oi'm from the county and parish of Kilkenny; or mi mudther was, thou' she's dead now, long loife to her! Wud I foind ary cobry in here?" "All you'll want uv 'em; and pythons too." "What is a poithon?" asked Felix.
"We'll git the rest of the day off," remarked Casey, complacently. "Shane, yez are dom' quiet betoimes. An' Mac, I shure showed yez up to-day." "Ye DID not," retorted McDermott. "I kilt jist twinty-nine Sooz!" "Jist thorty wus moine. An', Mac, as they wus only about fifthy of thim, yez must be a liar." The train drew on toward Medicine Bow. Firing ceased.
There are the Ottawa, the Gatineau, the Rideau, the Richelieu, the Lievre, the Matanne, the Metapedia, the Metis, the Saguenay. Those are the ones we know. Then look at the Peribonka, the Maniconagan, all the Ste. Anne's, all the Rouge or Red rivers, the Du Moine, the Coalonge, the Vermilion, the St. Francis.
The guests took their seats round a table on which was the famous centrepiece, executed after Chenavard's design, by Barye, Pradier, Klagman, Moine, my sister Marie, and by Ary Scheffer and Paul Delaroche as well, who laid aside their painters' brushes for the nonce, and wielded the sculptor's point.
"What the blank, blank are ye doin' here?" Perault spat deliberately into the ash-pan, tipped back his chair without looking at the big Irishman, and answered coolly. "Me? After one pack pony an' some outfit for de ole boss." "Pony an' outfit, is it?" shouted Carroll. "What the blank, blank d'ye mane? What 'av ye done wid that pack pony av moine, an' where's yer blank ould fool av a boss?"
She was a vision of loveliness, large-eyed, tawny, her hair a dark cascade about her fair face and bare shoulders, the crystal water lapping her slender thighs and curling into ripples about her, the heavy jungle growth on the banks making an emerald background to her beauty. "They are like the ancient Greeks," said Le Moine, "with the grace of accustomed nudity and the poise of the barefooted.