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In this and all other cases of inflammation, a forbearance from animal food and fermented liquors, is always advisable. THRUSH. This disorder in children affects the mouth and throat, and sometimes the stomach. In the former case it will be sufficient to cleanse the mouth with a little sage tea, sweetened with the honey of roses, and mixed with a dram of borax.
How incredibly base! And then, when my temper is aroused by your opposition, I am dastardly enough, heartless enough to try to humiliate you by shewing you those letters, to try to revenge myself on you. On you, Magdalen! On you! On you!" She did not speak nor move. Her face was awed, as the face of one who watches beside the pangs of death or birth. Outside in the amber sunset a thrush piped.
The wood thrush sounds a few organ tones, resonant and thrilling. It is almost his last summer service; soon, like the thrashers, he will be drooping and silent.
The absence of all those delicious smells which make a walk through the woodlands at home so delightful, is conspicuous in the sal forests, and another of the most noticeable features is the extreme silence, the oppressive stillness that reigns. You know how full of melody is an English wood, when thrush, blackbird, mavis, linnet, and a thousand warblers flit from tree to tree.
Of course, he'll see at once that Mr. Thrush is an educated man. I'm not afraid about that. It's only well, the little failing. It would mean so much for Mr. Thrush to get the post. He'll be provided for for life. I've set my heart on it." Annie came in. "Oh, Annie, is it Mr. Thrush?" "Yes, ma'am." "Please ask him to come in."
In sudden inspiration, Miss Marston threw open the upper half of the door and admitted a straight pathway of warm sun that led across the water just rippling at their feet. The hills behind the steep shore were dark with a mysterious green and fresh with a heavy dew, and from the nooks in the woods around them thrush was answering thrush. Miss Marston gave a sigh of content.
It was almost as though she believed that everything she heard with the great new gift which God had given her was speaking to her, and bidding her welcome and offering her love; as if the garrulous old olive over her head were stretching down his arms to sport with her hair, and pattering; "Kiss me, little one! kiss me, sweet one! kiss me! kiss me!" as if the rippling river at her feet were laughing and crying, "Catch me, naked feet! catch me, catch me!" as if the thrush on the bough were singing, "Where from, sunny locks? where from? where from?" as if the young squirrel were chirping, "I'm not afraid, not afraid, not afraid!" and as if the grey old sheep were breathing slowly, "Pat me, little maiden! you may, you may!"
But one sometimes learns a camper's life is not all places of cool retreats, bright camp fires, dry beds of plush- like boughs, with delicious breaths of birch, pine and mountain wild flowers sifting through his tent. Because the wood thrush and cardinal sang while you ate your supper of well-cooked trout is no sign you will be so highly favored the next time you pitch your tent.
It wasn't "cuckooing" at all; it was real singing, like that of the nightingale or the thrush, or like something prettier than either.
If you have not discovered that fact before how should you, indeed, in a place like Thrush Hill? you soon will in Montreal. With your face and figure you will make a sensation. There is to be a nephew of the Sinclairs here this winter. He is an American, immensely wealthy, and will be the catch of the season. A word to the wise, etc. Don't get into any foolish entanglement down there.
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