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The distressing feature was the abominable beds, but as these prevailed in most of the country hotels at which we stopped we shall not lay this up too strongly against the Saracen's Head. I noticed that on one of the window-panes someone had scribbled with a diamond, "Sept. 4, 1726," which would seem to indicate that the original window was there at that time.
We'll have our high tea at the Saracen's Head. As they descended, they heard the Minster bells playing a hymn, when the hour had struck six. Glory to thee my God this night For all the blessings of the light So, to Ursula's ear, the tune fell out, drop by drop, from the unseen sky on to the dusky town. It was like dim, bygone centuries sounding. It was all so far off.
This delicate consideration had its weight; and the streets were thin when the Mayor's gig stopped, on its way villa-wards, at the Saracen's Head. It is the interval between our first repinings and our final resignation, in which, both with individuals and communities, is to be found all that makes a history worth telling. Ere yet we yearn for what is out of our reach, we are still in the cradle.
No originality of thought, and but little curiosity. Few ideas ever penetrated the Turk's slow mind, and the few that did penetrate were received as military orders, to be obeyed without question and adhered to without reflection. Such was the being who took over the leadership of Islam from the Saracen's failing grasp.
I would I could hear him explain this, when he do come to it. 11th. To the Wardrobe, and with Mr. Townsend and Moore to the Saracen's Head to a barrel of oysters, and so Mr. Moore and I to Tom Trice's, with whom I did first set my hand to answer to a writt of his this tearm.
I would I could hear him explain this, when he do come to it. 11th. To the Wardrobe, and with Mr. Townsend and Moore to the Saracen's Head to a barrel of oysters, and so Mr. Moore and I to Tom Trice's, with whom I did first set my hand to answer to a writt of his this tearm.
At the Saracen's Head Inn, which has existed from the time of Edward III., Sir Walter Scott tells us that Jeanie Deans slept on her journey from Midlothian to London.
"And yet Zoraida loved you once! loved you as people love where I was born!" The Saracen's voice had altered. His speech was like the rustle of papers. "You did not love Zoraida. And so it came about that upon Walburga's Eve, at midnight, Zoraida hanged herself beside your doorway. Thus we love where I was born. . . . And I, I cut the rope with my left hand.
Here and there a small escutcheon, peeping from a glassless window, marked the night's lodging of knight or baron. These coats-of-arms could be read, where a scroll would be meaningless, and the bowman, like most men of his age, was well versed in the common symbols of heraldry. "There is the Saracen's head of Sir Bernard Brocas," quoth he.
On his return to his inn, Bertram at once found that there had been an arrival of some importance during his absence. Waiters and boots were all busy for there are waiters and boots at Jerusalem, much the same as at the "Saracen's Head," or "White Lion;" there is no chambermaid, however, only a chamberman. Colonel Sir Lionel Bertram was there.
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