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What a frail little pair they were, both of them, and to be there battling for this rich prize that was so hardly fought for, by strong men athirst for gold, and great horses a-keen for the gallop! Ah, there was Diablo, the very number Allis had said carried no dread for her, thirteen. What a strange coincidence! What a cruel twist of fate it would be if he were to win! he looked equal to it.
"And the best part of it is that she doesn't know what an adorable dear she is. I hope she gets an honorable mention, even if she can't hit the prize. She deserves a lot of good times, after all those lean years when she took such good care of us."
He believed, however, that it was upon the whole a losing concern; in the same manner as the lottery would be a losing adventure to any company who should buy all the tickets. Here and there an individual gained a large prize, but the majority of adventurers gained nothing. The same merchants, too, had asserted that the town of Liverpool would be ruined by the abolition.
She is very amusing. A very funny thing happened last week. Out of sheer devilry, she and a friend and two men went to the Covent Garden Fancy Dress Ball, disguised of course, and just for an hour or two. To their horror, after the procession, the friend was handed a large glass-and-silver salad bowl, as a prize for being the best 'twostep' dancer in the room.
His friends saw this plainly enough before the convention met, but he himself regarded the great prize as at last surely within his grasp. Mr. Choate, who was to lead the Webster delegates, went to Washington the day before the convention assembled. He called on Mr. Webster and found him so filled with the belief that he should be nominated that it seemed cruel to undeceive him. Mr.
"It ought to be in Robin Hood's time, if only for the sake of Maid Marian," said Caroline. "She will be quite sure to win the prize." "O yes, that she will," said Clara; "she shoots so much better than any one else." "I shall not shoot in public," said Marian, looking up for a moment, and then going on with her book. "You will do nothing to make yourself particular," said Mrs.
Delivered in the First Parish Church of Medford on the Sunday following Major Stearns's death, April 9, 1867. "We do not know how to prize good men until they depart. High virtue has such an air of nature and necessity that to thank its possessor would be to praise the water for flowing or the fire for warming us.
The officer was about to give the order to proceed, but Cornelius stopped him, a painful thought having struck him. He asked, with faltering voice, "Is the prize given to-day, sir?" "Yes, the prize for the black tulip." Cornelius's cheek flushed, his whole frame trembled, and the cold sweat stood on his brow.
I was warming myself, for it is very cold, and the ground is covered with snow, which is not good for the apricot trees. M. Guizot, leaning against the mantelpiece, was saying to me: "As a member of the dramatic prize committee, I read yesterday, in a single day, mind you, no fewer than six plays!" "That," I responded, "was to punish you for not having seen one acted in eighteen years."
Or, if you sail in company, and divide the prize of your discovery and the honour thereof, who is to come after you clustered Columbuses? to what fortunate islands of style are your architectural descendants to sail, avaricious of new lands? When our desired style is invented, will not the best we can all do be simply to build in it? and cannot you now do that in styles that are known?
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