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De Quincy writes, "From the heart, from an interest of love or hatred, of hope or care, springs all permanent eloquence; and the elastic spring of conversation is gone if the talker is a mere showy man of talent, pulling at an oar which he detests." These things being true, it seems to me that character is the first requirement in the art of conversation.
Thence does it lock away between the hills and valleys more mysteries than a poet conceals, but, like him, not by interception. Thence it writes out and cancels all the tracery of Monte Rosa, or lets the pencils of the sun renew them.
Our position at noon writes Captain Semmes put us just within thirty miles of Galveston, and I stood on, intending either just to sight the shipping at a great distance, without being seen myself, or else to anchor just out of sight until the moon should rise the following night, which would be about half-past eleven, and then run in, and attack, as I hoped, "Banks' expedition."
The only work the woman thought she could do was sewing, and some of this was found for her. Diet Kitchen order was obtained for one of the children who was ill, and shoes were given to the others. Later, the Provident Association gave groceries. At this time the first visitor left the city, and a new one took charge of the family. She writes: "On first calling on Mrs.
There were but twenty French left behind, including seven women and children. La Salle gave them a parting address. Father Douay writes: "He made an address full of eloquence, with that engaging way so natural to him. The whole colony was present, and were all moved to tears. They were alike persuaded of the necessity of his voyage and the uprightness of his intentions."
C. receives at present, and it is all which she receives for supporting herself, her daughter, and the two boys at school: the boys' expenses amounting to the whole. No part of Coleridge's embarrassment arises from his wife and children, except that he has insured his life for a thousand pounds, and pays the annual premium. He never writes to them, and never opens a letter from them!
They were good enough for the Eskimos, they seem to have thought at Copenhagen. There followed a terrible winter, during which mutiny and murder were threatened. "It is a pity," writes the missionary, "that while we sleep secure among the heathen savages, with so-called Christian people our lives are not safe."
And so, when the creamery burns down or the evening fast freight runs through an accommodation on the crossing, the old man puts his duty off until the last minute and then writes a few well-chosen lines merely to let us know that he is on the job and lets no news escape him.
On our way out the newspaper rooms we stumbled over the basket in which is deposited the literary material we cannot use. The basket upset and surprised us with its contents. On the top were some things that looked like fifteen or twenty poems. People outside have no idea of the amount of rhyme that comes to a printing office. The fact is that at some period in every one's life he writes "poetry."
That feller's name was Bill, an' he was out here to git the dope so's he could write books about the cattle country. I reckon his las' name was the same as the Bill as wrote this. I don't know no other Bills as writes books, do you, stranger?" Conniston evaded. "Are you sure it's about the cattle country?" "It sorta sounds like it, an' then it don't. You see it begins in a desert place.
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