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It is said that in 1830, when Charles X. published his ordinances and placarded his proclamation on the walls of Paris, a young law-student, who was tearing down one of them, was driven off with a kick by one of the king's officers. The officer was Patrice MacMahon; the law-student Jules Grévy. M. Grévy was pre-eminently respectable. He was born in the Jura mountains, Aug. 15, 1813.
Kevin Egan rolls gunpowder cigarettes through fingers smeared with printer's ink, sipping his green fairy as Patrice his white. About us gobblers fork spiced beans down their gullets. Un demi setier! A jet of coffee steam from the burnished caldron. She serves me at his beck. Il est irlandais. Hollandais? Non fromage. Deux irlandais, nous, Irlande, vous savez ah, oui!
'And yet, sir, I cannot but marvel that you, Colonel, whom I noted to have so much of the amor patritz when we met in Edinburgh as even to vilipend other countries, should have chosen to establish your Lares, or household gods, procul a patrice finibus, and in a manner to expatriate yourself.
Thermometer at five P.M. 17 degrees centigrade. In 1840, the Tenth Chasseurs-a-Pied were commanded by Patrice de MacMahon, then a major and afterwards Marshal of France and Duc de Magenta, and whose name is remembered by the corps in their march song: "L' dixiem' batallion, Commandant Mac-Mahon, N'a pas peur du canon, Nom de nom!" The captured flag is of magenta colored silk, with a white St.
Ransom marched from Pleasant Hill at half-past five, and at half-past ten was ten miles distant on the northerly branch of the Bayou St. Patrice, designated as his camp for the day.
Ne, pueri, ne tanta animis assuescite bella, Neu patrice validas in viscera vertite vires. VIRG. AEn. vi. v. 832. Embrace again, my sons, be foes no more, Nor stain your country with her children's gore.
I like my comrades-in-arms, I like the character of British officers, and the men too I get on well with them. I declare to you, Patrice, I burn to live in brotherhood with them, not a rift of division at heart! I never show them that there is one.
He was now less than three miles from the field where Lee had been beaten back and Ransom had been overwhelmed. The scene was a small clearing with a fenced farm, traversed by a narrow by-road and by a little creek flowing toward the St. Patrice.
They came together, I suppose, because they were near together, like the two islands, in spite of the rolling waves between. I would not willingly see the union disturbed. He warms her, and she houses him. And he has to control the hot blood that does the warming, and she to moderate the severity of her principles, which are an essential part of the housing. Oh! shiver politics, Patrice.
Greeneyed monster. I know him. He's a gentleman, a poet. It's all right. PRIVATE CARR: I don't give a bugger who he is. PRIVATE COMPTON: We don't give a bugger who he is. STEPHEN: I seem to annoy them. Green rag to a bull. KEVIN EGAN: H'lo! Bonjour! The vieille ogresse with the dents jaunes. PATRICE: Socialiste! You'll get into trouble. He provokes my intelligence.
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