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Updated: May 13, 2025
But now he sat limply, his soft black hat pushed forward on to his nose, his big body shrunk inside his loose clothes, staring at his boots or the Chinese junks in the bay, and assenting absently to the secretary's questions as he opened the Saturday mail. Cheyne was wondering how much it would cost to drop everything and pull out. On the other hand
Cheyne, in the boudoir stateroom, where the French maid, sallow-white with fear, clung to the silver door-handle, only moaned a little and begged her husband to bid them "hurry." And so they dropped the dry sands and moon-struck rocks of Arizona behind them, and grilled on till the crash of the couplings and the wheeze of the brake-hose told them they were at Coolidge by the Continental Divide.
"3 Cheyne Walk, Chelsea, 10th March, 1848. "MY DEAR SIR: On the receipt of your last letter, I forthwith wrote to the astronomer royal, urging the claims of Miss Mitchell, of Nantucket, and he immediately replied, saying that he would lose no time in consulting his official colleague, Mr. Schumacher, on the subject.
W.M. Rossetti at p. 351, Vol. They intended to spend a couple of months in Italy. On the day of starting, Ruskin called at Cheyne Walk with the usual bouquet for Mrs. Carlyle, to learn that she had just met with her death, in trying to save her little dog, the gift of Lady Trevelyan.
Cheyne decreed a meal, and that nothing might be lacking to the tale Long Jack told afterwards in his boarding-house, she waited on them herself. Men who are accustomed to eat at tiny tables in howling gales have curiously neat and finished manners; but Mrs. Cheyne, who did not know this, was surprised.
"A few bottles of grog will keep up their courage," said Frewen, "especially some rum. Have you any to spare, captain?" "Any amount." "Then I'll tell Cheyne to let the boats come alongside in turn, and we'll give all the natives a good rousing nip before the rain comes." He walked for'ard and stood on the topgallant foc'sle and gave a loud hail. "Boat ahoy!"
Sometimes also you have observed that in directing you they find it necessary to consult a pocket map of the town. Your general impression doubtless is that they are rather nice fellows. It was in Cheyne Walk that I met my policeman. I had got off the 'bus at Battersea Bridge, and was seeking my way to Oakley Street, where I had been directed to lodgings described as excellent.
Cheyne was answering and answering he was doing something and doing something he was not believing anything and not believing anything he was saying something and saying something he was irritating and irritating he was pleasing and pleasing he was dying and dying he was burning. Helen was hoping to be laughing. She was saying she was going to keep on laughing.
As luck would have it the very next evening in the level light under the elms of the Square I beheld sauntering towards me a dapper figure which I recognized as that of Mr. Cheyne himself. As I saluted him he gave me an amused and most disconcerting glance; and when I was congratulating myself that he had passed me he stopped. "Fine weather for March, Paret," he observed.
It seemed impossible to make people want either Carlyle or his books. "He had created no 'public' of his own," says a friend who wrote his life,* "the public which existed could not understand his writings and would not buy them, nor could he be induced so much as to attempt to please it; and thus it was that in Cheyne Row he was more neglected than he had been in Scotland." *Froude.
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