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Updated: May 31, 2025
It does not require any special gift of vision to divine who was "the friend" who went with Mr O'Connor to Sir H. Campbell-Bannerman's breakfast-party and who was in "complete agreement as to both policy and tactics." They were good Liberals both of them, and for my own part I would find no fault with them for this, if only they had been better Nationalists.
From these and many other disparagements, one gladly passes to the picture of the poet as he was in the flesh at a breakfast-party given by Henry Taylor, at a tavern in St. James's Street, in 1840.
It was with an effort for he knew it would be a shock to her that he began to talk to her about the breakfast-party at Mr. Flaxman's, and his talk with Murray Edwardes. But he had made it a rule with himself to tell her everything that he was doing or meant to do. She would not let him tell her what he was thinking. But as much openness as there could be between them, there should be.
But we fixed it up at last, and poor old George got down to his state-room and changed his clothes. He'd hardly gone when the breakfast-party came on deck. "Did you meet him?" I asked. "Meet whom?" said old Marshall. "George's twin-brother Alfred." "I didn't know George had a brother." "Nor did he till yesterday. It's a long story. He was kidnapped in infancy, and everyone thought he was dead.
She responded by inviting him to call at Nohant. He came and joined a breakfast-party that included Madame Sand and her son and daughter, Chopin, and other friends Mr. Arnold being placed next to the hostess. He says of her: As she spoke, her eyes, head, bearing were all of them striking, but the main impression she made was one of simplicity, frank, cordial simplicity.
The breakfast-party next morning was a great success on the whole. It was a little marred by the fact that whereas covers were laid for four, just fourteen guests turned up. This was partly Arthur's fault, for, having sallied forth with an invitation in his pocket to anyone who would help his friend out with a few lines, he had dropped them about in a good many other quarters.
He understood little more of the play than at the historic breakfast-party of Sir John Pilgrim; he was well confirmed in his belief that the play was exactly as preposterous as a play in verse must necessarily be; his manly contempt for verse was more firmly established than ever but Elsie April made an exquisite figure between the castle and the forest; her voice did really set up physical vibrations in his spine.
It might have been some centuries-dead inhabitant of Pompeii trying to deliver a message from the silent world. The breakfast-party next morning lacked vivacity. Clifford Marsh was mute and dolorous of aspect; no doubt his personal embarrassments were occupying him. Yesterday's wine had become his foe, instead of an ally urging him to dare all in the cause of "art."
The breakfast-party were just on the eve of breaking up, when a violent screaming in the back garden seemed to upset Aunt Mary's idea that Freddy could not get into any mischief there, and soon the whole party were in the back garden to ascertain the cause of the disturbance.
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