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The moral subtleties of the fathers have been sensed and obeyed. Virtue snickers triumphantly. "And now?" I demand of my companion. "S-s-s-h!" he warns. And, leaning over me, he pours strange and lurid information into my gaping ear. "Now," he whispers, "to the Supper Clubs, the real night life of London wine, women, song and dance." There is a mystery in his mien.
"He has burnt himself," Léonie replied, "Good," I said, "and where has he burnt himself?" "On the left hand. It is not fire: it is I don't know its name. Why does he not take care when he pours it out?" "Of what colour," I asked, "is the stuff which he pours out?" "It is not red, it is brown; he has hurt himself very much the skin puffed up directly." 'Now, this description is admirably exact.
A brief mystic verse, with slow descending strain in the high wood, preludes the returning gambol of running strings, where the maze of fugue or canon is in the higher flowing song, with opposite course of answering tune, and a height of jolly revel, where the bright trumpet pours out the usual concluding phrase. The rhythmic episode, in whimsical change, here sings with surprise of lusty volume.
"When the Lord pours out the Holy Ghost on an individual, he will have spasms, and you would think he was going to have fits; but it don't make him get up and go pay his debts not by a long shot. Of course I don't feel to mention any names, but what can you expect, anyway? A flock of a thousand sheep has got to be mighty clean if some of them ain't smutty.
I don't say as how I don't hold with Gawd," he explained, with uplifted forefinger and cocked head; "but if ever I thinks of Him, I like to feel that He's in the wind or in the crickle-crackle of the earth, just near and friendly like, but not a-worrying of a chap, listening for every cuss-word as he uses to his old horse, and measuring every half-pint he pours down his dusty throat. No.
The fore end lifts an oath is heard next second the red jacket shows in a whirl of water. Then it disappears. A movement of anxiety on the bridge the watchers on the bank spring to their feet. He is up again, swimming athwart the stream. A few powerful strokes, and he reaches the dead water close inshore. Cursing aloud, he sits down and pours the water from his boots.
Rasselas was the fourth son of the mighty Emperor in whose dominions the father of waters begins his course whose bounty pours down the streams of plenty, and scatters over the world the harvests of Egypt.
While he does not permit them to despair at their continual misfortunes, nor does he allow them to grow prideful at their frequent good fortune, the sacred distributor necessarily pours the spirit of grace and prayers upon them, so that, while no prosperity, even the most satisfying, seems to smile upon them without soon being followed by adversity, the soul always filled with anxiety is compelled to place its hope in Him who aids them in every circumstance.
In a word, we shall no longer see God as He is rejected in the mirror of creation, but as he is in himself. This is the vision which no mortal has seen, or can see in this world. This is the vision which pours torrents of knowledge into our souls, and fills them to overflowing.
This, with the fact that this body of water has no outlet whatever, makes a problem to which geologists and scientific men have failed to give a satisfactory solution. Of course, the water evaporates very rapidly, but in the spring when the Jordan overflows and pours a much greater volume of water into it, how does it come that it evaporates so much faster than at any other time in the year?
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