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Updated: June 18, 2025
"If I can secure a specimen of the rivoluta splendens," says Leonidas, "I shall gladly take any chances." "Isn't the dear Professor just too heroic?" coos Mrs. Mumford. "It will be worth while going merely to see what a rivoluta splendens really is." "We seem to be agreed," says Old Hickory, "and our company is made up. That is, with two exceptions." "Great Scott!" I whispers to Vee.
"The swallow twitters on the barn, The rook is cawing on the tree, And in the wood the ringdove coos, But my false love hath fled from me. Like tiny pipe of wheaten straw, The wren his little note doth swell, And every living thing that flies, Of his true love doth fondly tell.
Ye should hae gin ten pund sterling apiece for the coos, and not twenty-sen and saxpence. It's a pity yer brither, and Thacker, and MacFarlane are no here the nicht, and we'd droon them, too."
Smiling she guides them toward the commandant and says: "Here they are, sir. How do you like them?" That terrific personage has been suddenly transformed from haircloth into silk. He beams, and pulling out his fat gold watch, coos like a hoarse dove: "Look here, kinderen, come and hear the bells in my tick-tock!"
Nay, men of an elevated genius have not only disdained to be intimidated from the pursuit of literary fame; but the very artists and mechanics have never relinquished their profession, because they were unable to equal the beauty of that Iasylus which we have seen at Rhodes, or of the celebrated Venus in the island of Coos: nor has the noble image of Olympian Jove, or the famous statue of the Man at Arms, deterred others from making trial of their abilities, and exerting their skill to the utmost.
He coos and gurgles, he seldom does anything more intelligent than to smile, and he prefers men to women. The greatest fault that thinking men find with this sort of girl is, that she becomes sillier every day that she lives.
We find her in different countries and in different times; but she always lures and fascinates a man, storms against insuperable circumstance, coos and caws, and in the outcome dies. One of Sardou's latest efforts, La Sorcière, presents the dry bones of the formula without the flesh and blood of life.
"Bobby wullna be lanely here wi' the coos, bairnie, an' i' the morn ye can tak' a bit rope an' haud it in a wee hand so he canna brak awa', an' syne, in a day or twa, he'll be forgettin' Auld Jock. Ay, ye'll hae grand times wi' the sonsie doggie, rinnin' an' loupin' on the braes."
A baker who had paused for a moment to look, and then passed on, was singing as he went, and the song and the man's accent were both familiar to Jan. "The swallow twitters on the barn, The rook is cawing on the tree, And in the wood the ring-dove coos" "What's your name, boy?"
The voice that coos and murmurs to his baby in the cradle, that recounts as great events the little varieties of kitchen and parlour life, that tells of visits made and received, with items of harmless gossip gathered up and kept for his hearing, is none the less dear to him now that it can discourse of nothing beyond.
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