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Updated: June 21, 2025
'All the happiness I had was in your love, and that was false. Go with your new love where I may see you no more. "Matthew died years after, a soured and misanthropic man; but few legends are better known in his native district than the story of Matthew Collins's ghost."
I flatter myself, that I shall lose no honour by this publication, because I believe these Odes, as they now stand, are infinitely the best things I ever wrote. You will see a very pretty one of Collins's, on the Death of Colonel Ross before Tournay. It is addressed to a lady who was Ross's intimate acquaintance, and who, by the way, is Miss Bett Goddard.
Now that I've been robbed and left penniless " "You're not penniless," interjected the lawyer. "Your money is intact." Collins's eyes expanded into an expression of incredulous wonder. "What are you talking about?" he demanded savagely. "Are you trying to fool me? My money's in Ward's bank " "And every creditor will be paid in full," interrupted the lawyer.
They are wrote in Mr. Collins's books for us. I was born in the last year of King James's reign. I am not old yet. I am but seventy-six. But what a wreck, my dear: and isn't it cruel that our time should be so short?" Here my wife has to state the incontrovertible proposition, that the time of all of us is short here below. "Ha!" cries the Baroness.
In the same essay too, I assigned sundry reasons, chiefly drawn from a comparison of passages in the Latin poets with the original Greek, from which they were borrowed, for the preference of Collins's odes to those of Gray; and of the simile in Shakespeare How like a younker or a prodigal The scarfed bark puts from her native bay, Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind!
I knew angrily that if it were Collins's blood he had not missed it particularly, for he had moved away without leaving a sign of a trail. Where to I had no means of knowing, till five minutes later I found another spatter of blood on my corduroy road, and as I looked at it my own blood boiled.
Here, at last was a murder worthy of Wilkie Collins's or Gaboriau's handling; such a crime as one expected to read of in a novel, but never could hope to hear of in real life. Fact had for once poached on the domains of fiction.
Mr. Collins's return into Hertfordshire was no longer a matter of pleasure to Mrs. Bennet. On the contrary, she was as much disposed to complain of it as her husband. It was very strange that he should come to Longbourn instead of to Lucas Lodge; it was also very inconvenient and exceedingly troublesome.
Collins until she was that worthy gentleman's double. Who could ever forget the courtship scene, with Mr. Collins's ponderous declaration and dexterous withdrawal from Mrs. Bennet's clutches? Contrary to Judith's fears, Mr. Collins's coat withstood the pressure of his windy eloquence and all the seams held fast. Scene followed scene.
In Collins's outfit was Sam Bass, and under his leadership, until he met his death the following spring at the hands of Texas Rangers, the course of the outfit southward was marked by a series of daring bank and train robberies. We reached the river late that evening, and after watering, grazed until dark and camped for the night.
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