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Updated: July 9, 2025
"There is an obligato for violin and we have a violinist here. It is a beautiful song Tosti's Beauty's Eyes. Do you know it?" "Yes," he replied. "Will you sing it for me?" she asked. "With the greatest pleasure," he answered. Once, as he sang the lines of the song, he looked up.
Alas! your path of flowers will disappear; E'en now a thousand thorns are pointed near; Ah! here you find 'base treachery's burning brand, And sorrows score the heart, nor spare the hand; But here 'Beauty's sovereign' so say you A thing that in one hour may lose its hue It lies upon the surface of the skin Aye, Beauty's self was never worth a pin; But still it suits the superficial mind The slight observer of the human kind; The airy, fleety, vain, and hollow thing, That only feeds on wily flattering.
And then, in the corner, stood that magical box with the ivory keys, whose strings waited ready night and day strange media through which the myriad voices, the inner-sweet thoughts, of the great world-soul found speech, messengers of the stars to the heart, and of the heart to the stars. Beauty's songs were very simple.
It was certainly not that of a conscious villain: but he only replied sneeringly, "And pray what may give Mr. Thurnall the right to consider himself the destined avenger of this frail beauty's wrongs?" "I will tell you that after we have fought; and somewhat more. Meanwhile, that expression, 'frail beauty, is a fresh offence, for which I should certainly cane you, if she were not in the house."
A strange medley of persons visited this house, each seeking in her own peculiar way the elixir of life, which is beauty, or the potion of love, which is beauty's handmaiden. There were remedies plus remedies; the same skin-food was warranted to create double-chins or destroy them; the same tonic killed superfluous hair or made it grow on bald spots.
Her pure white skin was flat on the bone; the lips came forward in a soft curve, and, if they were not artistically stained, were triumphantly fresh. Here, in any case, she beat her rival, whose mouth had the plebeian beauty's fault of being too straight in a line, and was not trained, apparently, to tricks of dainty pouting.
"So, bit by bit, I found that Mr. Lorimer, my beauty's father, was a Scotchman, who had bought the ranch which had formerly belonged to the old Spanish family of the Yturris. Then I remembered pretty Inez and Dolores Yturri, with their black eyes, olive skins and soft, lazy embonpoint; and thought of golden-haired Jessy Lorimer in their dark, latticed rooms. "Jack, turn the picture to me.
Proceedings for a divorce were at once instituted by Mr. Stuyvesant, and the judicial tribunal freed him from his unfortunate alliance. He, however, became heartbroken and shortly after died, the disgrace wrecking his home and nearly driving him insane. *A French Beauty's Troubles.*
Beauty glided rustling by his side, and dark eyes subdued their native fire into softness whenever they turned on him; and scarce fifty yards in the rear hung a bully and a mastiff ready to tear him down if he should break away from beauty's light hand, that rested so timidly on his. He was young, and stout-hearted, and relished his peep of liberty and nature, though blotted by Vulcan and Rooke.
Emerson's new proposition was better than mining, did you not?" He was the embodiment of friendly interest, showing just the proper degree of complaisant expectancy. "I am decidedly curious to know what undertaking is sufficiently momentous to draw a young man away from beauty's side up into such a wilderness, particularly in the dead of winter."
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