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Updated: June 8, 2025
Shepherd's voice it went on and on sounded, at such close quarters, both harsh and rasping. Mrs. Shepherd was mending a stole; Isabella stooped over the sermon, which she was writing like copperplate. Laura sat in a corner with her hands before her: she had finished her book, but her eyes were still visionary. When any of the three spoke, it was in a low tone. Towards nine o'clock Mrs.
It was of great height and breadth, with all the majolica lustre which Hirschvogel learned to give to his enamels when he was making love to the young Venetian girl whom he afterwards married. There was the statue of a king at each corner, modelled with as much force and splendor as his friend Albrecht Dürer could have given unto them on copperplate or canvas.
Lovin' little creeter, good little creeter, she always wuz, and always would be. And so I told Josiah. Wall, we had the boy set between us to the supper-table, Josiah and me did, in Thomas Jefferson's little high-chair. I had new covered it on purpose for him with bright copperplate calico.
Handsome copperplate engravings of Pisa and of Rome, and pastel portraits in oval frames; the rest of the whity brown panelled wall space hidden by book-cases. These surmounted by softly shining, pearl-grey Chinese godlings, monsters, philosophers and saints, the shelves below packed with neatly ranged books.
I remember, long years ago, at a little school that I attended in the country, we had a schoolmaster, who used perpetually to write on the blackboard, in a copperplate hand, the motto that I have just quoted: "If at first you don't succeed, Try, try, again." He wore plain clothes and had a hard, determined face.
And meanwhile the heads of the five greatest jewel houses in New York were assiduous in their search for that copperplate superscription in their daily mail. On the morning of the eighth day it came. Mr. Latham was nervously shuffling his unopened personal correspondence when he came upon it a formal white square envelope, directed by that same copperplate hand which had directed the boxes.
I s'pose it will look off longingly onto the far off somewhere that lays over the waters beyend the sunset. JOSIAH ALLEN'S WIFE. NEW YORK, June, 1887. The idee on't come to me one day about sundown, or a little before sundown. I wuz a settin' in calm peace, and a big rockin' chair covered with a handsome copperplate, a readin' what the Sammist sez about "Vanity, vanity, all is vanity."
Burchill's handwriting is similarly plain of the copperplate sort and just as easy to imitate. "Sixth. That man across there is an expert forger! I have the account of his trial at Lancaster Assizes the evidence shows that his work was most expert. Is it likely that his hand should have lost its cunning even after several years? "Seventh. That man there had every opportunity of forging this will.
He could write better than his father or mother he wrote like copperplate, turning his head on one side and chewing his tongue, keeping pace with his lips, as the pen glided gracefully over the paper. His ambition was to make a bird with a card in its bill, and on this card, written so small no one could read it, the proud name, G. Peabody.
It was written in Thompson's careful, back-number copperplate, perhaps not so careful as usual, but his unmistakably. And once and for all I dismissed all idea that it could have been Macartney who was tangled up with Paulette Brown. Old Thompson's friends were not that sort, and he vouched for knowing Macartney all his life.
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