United States or Gibraltar ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !


"Rien du tout d'extraordinaire," he repeated doggedly. "Sauf le cadavre," I retorted. He shook his head, "Tres pauvre la tombe," he muttered: "pas du tout riche." Another guardian, wall-eyed, here joined him, and catching the subject of conversation, "Tres pauvre," he corroborated compassionately.

One afternoon I was lying on my couch, thinking of the usual Nothing, when a sharp cry sung through The Enormous Room: "Il tombe de la neige Noel! Noel!" I sat up. The Guard Champetre was at the nearest window, dancing a little horribly and crying: "Noel! Noel!" I went to another window and looked out. Sure enough.

He represents the outlet of Lake Superior as far as the Saut Ste. Marie, and lays down the River Ottawa in great detail, having descended it on his return. The Falls of the Genessee are indicated, as also the Falls of Niagara, with the inscription, "Sault qui tombe au rapport des sauvages de plus de 200 pieds de haut."

The most noticeable feature of the ritual was the prominence assigned to women; "ce sont les femmes qui le pleurent, et qui l'accompagnent a sa tombe. Elles sanglotent eperdument pendant les nuits, c'est leur dieu plus que tout autre, et seules elles veulent pleurer sa mort, et chanter sa resurrection."

If ever I meet with the volume again I will look it out and see how that rude dompteur de syllables managed it. But stay, son trône est la tombe; that makes the verse, and the generalisation would be in the "line" of Hugo. Hugo how impossible it is to speak of French literature without referring to him.

Then all we of the house, with all the Citizens, ranne incontinently after her to take the sword out of her hand, but she clasping about the tombe of Lepolemus, kept us off with her naked weapon, and when she perceived that every one of us wept and lamented, she spake in this sort: I pray you my friends weepe not, nor lament for me, for I have revenged the death of my husband, I have punished deservedly the wicked breaker of our marriage; now is it time to seeke out my sweet Lepolemus, and presently with this sword to finish my life.

"M. Hugo was at the Opera on the night the sentence of the Court of Peers, condemning Barbes to death, was published. The great poet composed the following verses: 'Par votre ange envolee, ainsi qu'une colombe, Par le royal enfant, doux et frele roseau, Grace encore une fois! Grace au nom de la tombe! Grace au nom du berceau!*

"I wish you to understand from the lady's father," Grey said to the lawyer, "that the marriage would be regarded by him with as much dismay as by myself." "Certainly; it would be ruinous," Mr Vavasor had answered. "And you see, Mr Tombe," Mr Grey went on, "we only wish to try the man. If he be not such as we believe him to be, he can prove it by his conduct.

The next day, February 17, 1881, about ten in the evening, I arrived at the opera, and went behind the scenes to search for Monsieur Morin. "The Prophet" was being played, and the third act had just begun. On the stage the Anabaptists were singing forcibly: "Du sang! que Judas succombe! Du sang! Dansons sur leur tombe! Du sang! Voila l'hécatombe Que Dieu nous demande encor!"

"The prettiest child I ever saw, Mr Vavasor!" said Mr Tombe, and then he coughed violently. Some people who knew Mr Tombe declared that he nursed his cough. "I dare say," said George. "Yes, indeed, ugh ugh ugh." "Can you tell me, Mr Tombe, whether either you or he have anything to do with the payment of certain sums to my credit at Messrs Hock and Block's?"