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A paste-pot, a pair of scissors, the mechanical precision of a copying clerk, are all useful in their way; but they no more make an historian than a cowl makes a monk. There are many writers of history, but very few historians. Froude wrote with a definite purpose, which he never concealed from himself, or from others.

I wandered through room after room, all empty, till at last I came to one in which sat a man with a paste-pot and a pair of long shears. This must be the editor; he had the implements of his trade. I told him my errand while he clipped away. "What is it you want?" he asked, when I had ceased speaking and waited for an answer. "Work," I said.

"They ought to be numbered," said Flip, stepping gingerly about among the things. "Hold on a minute! I've got it!" shouted King, and rushed upstairs at top speed. He returned with a large calendar, two or three pairs of scissors and a paste-pot. "Cut 'em out," he directed, giving each girl a page of the calendar.

Sign-paintin's a soft snap when it comes to bill-stickin'. Now, I guess I've stuck more bills onto New York State than ennybody. "'Have you? I said, angrily. "'Yes, siree! I always pick out the purtiest spots kinder filled chuck full of woods and brooks and things; then I h'ist my paste-pot onto a rock, and I slather that rock with gum, and whoop she goes! "'Whoop what goes? "'The bill.

What’s that?” cried Uncle Butter, jumping back so quickly that he upset his paste-pot. “What’s the matter?” asked the little boy in glad surprise. “Why, there’s something inside that paper!” cried the goat. “See, it’s moving! There must be a fairy inside!”

After a minute he returned with a warbled "Take Me Back to New York Town" and a paste-pot. And upon his third appearance he was practising gymnastics with a huge pair of shears, which he finally presented, grinningly. There was a long pause, broken only by the sonorous voice of Dr.

Mgr. Meurin, the next witness, deserves, by his position and ability, our very sincere respect; compared with the octogenarian sentimentalism of Jean Kostka, the violence of Signor Margiotta, and the paste-pot of M. de la Rive, one breathes

Everybody shouted, for James's imagination always seemed to be stimulated whenever he saw a chance to make something with paste-pot and brush. "How about music?" This question brought silence, for it was not easy to arrange for music in the open. "I wish Edward and his violin were here," said Delia, referring to her brother, Dr.

One day, she had been there about two months, she said something to him about it. It was hard; it seemed forcing one's way into a room that had never been opened to one there were several doors he kept closed. "Mr. Clifford," she turned to him impetuously as they were putting away their things that night, "will you mind if I say something to you?" He was covering his paste-pot.

Smith asked, stirring the paste-pot preparatory to the afternoon's work. She looked at me curiously out of her shrewd, snapping dark eyes as she awaited my answer. I was conscious that Mrs. Smith didn't like me for some reason or other, and I was anxious to propitiate her. I was pretty certain she thought me a boresome prig, and I determined I'd prove I wasn't.