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Recall it there, free it from whatever is superfluous, supply whatever it lacks, animate it with the idea of the tireless artist, the mocking, defiant mortal woman who ended her life as the weaver of weavers in the insect world, as you have so often vividly described her to me.
Even with three wicks it gave but a stime of light, and never allowed the weaver to see more than the half of his loom at a time. Sometimes Cree used threads for wicks. He was too dull a man to have many visitors, but Mr. Dishart called occasionally and reproved him for telling his mother lies.
While quite a lad the Foxes went to Norwich, where the future preacher and teacher worked as a weaver boy. In after-years it was often my privilege to meet Mr.
Shaded by the leaves that had begun to wither, held by tendrils that were strained until they could hold no more, the purple chalices swung lazily in the golden light, slowly filling with the garnered sweetness that every moment brought. Night and day the alchemy went on dust and sun and dreaming, dust and moon and dreaming, while the Weaver waited, dreaming too, until the web should be complete.
It was all very well to tell him to go; it was quite another thing to let him go without a good cry at losing him. "Just say the word, and I'll see it out with you, sis," he told her. "No, no! I want you to go. I wouldn't have you stay. Tell the boys it's all right, and don't let them do anything rash." Sanderson clenched his teeth, and looked at Weaver. "Oh, they'll do nothing rash.
Then, clapping her hands, she continued gaily, in the tone of the director of an entertainment issuing invitations to a performance: "Your attention is requested! In this city of weavers the noble Thracian, Althea, will depict before you all the weaver of weavers, Arachne, in person."
Underneath the lower roller is fixed a wooden tray, which is useful for holding bobbins, comb, or scissors. This enables the weaver to glance now and then through the warp-strings at any detail that is in progress.
"I jist cam' to see whether ye war in want o' onything, Thamas." "I'm in want o' naething. Gude nicht to ye." "But, railly, Thamas," expostulated the weaver, emboldened by his own kindness "ye'll excuse me, but ye hae nae business to gang doon on yer knees wi' yer leg in sic a weyk condeetion." "I winna excuse ye, Jeames. What ken ye aboot my leg?
'All the world is taking up the writer's part, which ought to be confined to a few: the number of the sick increases and the disease becomes daily more virulent. A victim of the mania himself, he laughs at his own misfortune: yet it might have been better, he thought, to have been a labourer or a weaver at the loom.
"Well!" he said to his fellow-deacons, as they followed the rough road to Pont-y-fro, "did you ever think we had such a fool for a deacon?" "'Ts 'ts! never indeed," said John Jones of the "Blue Bell." "Well, indeed," said old Thomas Morgan, the weaver, "I didn't know we had such a sinner amongst us; but fool! perhaps it would be better if we were all such fools."
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