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Not a ghost was seen; no lurid face cast its pale shadow over the dark canvas; the pure spirit of Washington had departed in hopeless despair. I was about to read a prayer, when the dark canvas moved aside, and there, real as life, sat on a slave's grave the immaculate Brigadier; he, reader, was sipping whiskey toddy, as if it were his wont. Old Bunkum was the slave whose grave he sat upon.
"`Your lotion, sir, I says, and he tasted it, and tasted it again, sipping, then mouthfulling, and sets the glass down, with a sigh. "`What is it, Brigley? he says. "`Noo-lade egg, sir, noo milk, lump o' sugar, and half a glass o' sherry, well lathered up with a swizzle-stick. "`Hah! he says, `is there any more? "`No, sir, I says; `not this morning.
‘I own I cannot; but we know not that it will be so;—and I do know that to regret the exchange of earthly pleasures for the joys of heaven, is as if the grovelling caterpillar should lament that it must one day quit the nibbled leaf to soar aloft and flutter through the air, roving at will from flower to flower, sipping sweet honey from their cups, or basking in their sunny petals.
We can understand why he was a favorite in the society of Baltimore, Washington, Philadelphia, and Albany, as well as of New York, and why he liked to linger here and there, sipping the social sweets, like a man born to leisure and seemingly idle observation of life.
The other servants sympathized with him in his opinion at least, I cannot account in any other way for their having left the house in a body the same afternoon. "My dear," Mrs. D'Odd remarked to me one day after dinner as I sat moodily sipping a cup of sack I love the good old names "my dear, that odious ghost of Jorrocks' has been gibbering again." "Let it gibber!" I answered recklessly. Mrs.
The bartender emerged from a door leading into the back room, with a tall, empty glass in his hand, and Morrow asked for a beer. As he stood sipping it, he watched the bartender replenish the empty unwashed glass he had carried with a generous drink of doubtful looking absinthe and a squirt from a syphon. "Bum drink on a cold morning," he observed tentatively. "Have a whisky straight, on me?"
Yet while he was sipping wine and singing songs with Marion Glamis, and looking with admiration into her rosy, glowing face, Sophy was suffering all the slings and arrows of Madame's outrageous hatred. She complained all dinner-time, even while the servants were present, of the deprivation she had to endure for Sophy's sake.
Whilst she was sipping her anisette, a recollection suddenly flashed across her mind, she remembered the plum she had taken with Coupeau, near the door, in the old days, when he was courting her. At that time, she used to leave the juice of fruits preserved in brandy. And now, here was she going back to liqueurs. Oh! she knew herself well, she had not two thimblefuls of will.
Nahoum sat sipping coffee. A cigarette was between his fingers. He touched his hand to his forehead and his breast as David closed the door and hung his hat upon a nail.
I felt that someone really ought to tell you what took place in the outer foyer after you sank gracefully out of the act. Mr. Bower " A tap on the door leading into the corridor interrupted her. It was Marie, armed with chicken broth and dry toast. Mrs. de la Vere, who seemed to be filled with an honest anxiety to place Helen at her ease, persuaded her to begin sipping the compound.
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