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Jane Austen and Maria Edgeworth "lisped" in novelettes, as Pope said he "lisped in numbers." Though Charlotte Brontë published so little, she wrote stories incessantly from childhood. Lytton, Dickens, Thackeray, Trollope, invented tales as part of their daily lives, and from the earliest age.

Those goblins are the characters of Dickens. Arcadian poets and Arcadian painters have striven to express happiness by means of beautiful figures. Dickens understood that happiness is best expressed by ugly figures. In beauty, perhaps, there is something allied to sadness; certainly there is something akin to joy in the grotesque, nay, in the uncouth.

Anne confessed with honesty, her brow troubled. "I've read things, here and there. I know SOMETHING, of course. But I don't know much!" "We've all read Dickens and the Classic Myths, and things," Alix submitted. "And of course she went with us the day Dad took us to Faust! Is that about all there is to it, Nance?" "Just about, I guess!" Anne answered briefly. Both girls' faces were red.

The reader does still feel that David's marriage to Dora was a real marriage; and that his marriage to Agnes was nothing, a middle-aged compromise, a taking of the second best, a sort of spiritualised and sublimated marriage of convenience. For all the readers of Dickens Dora is thoroughly avenged.

"Who in the dickens was it?" exclaimed Bud, evidently growing angry now that his astonishment had worn away. "The nerve of him, poking his nose in where it isn't wanted! Why don't we get a move on and chase after him? Ralph, remember that you've got your scatter-gun handy. Don't forget to take that, will you?"

"Now, see here," he said in his decided way. "Maybe it didn't strike you as anything but funny which it sure is. But yuh want to remember that the old girl has come a dickens of a long ways to do us some good. She's been laying awake nights thinking about how we'll get to calling her something nice: Angel of the Roundup, maybe you can't tell, she's that romantic.

'And what the dickens brings him up here? asked Miss Mag of herself; so soon as the first shock was over, the oddity of the situation struck her as she looked with perplexed and unpleasant sort of enquiry at Mr. Dangerfield. Just then up came the meek little Mrs.

These are facts facts so hard and true that they would be the delight of Mr. Gradgrind. At twelve years of age, Charles Dickens was pasting labels on blacking-boxes; his father was in prison. At sixteen, he was spending odd hours in the reading-room of the British Museum.

Over roots and fallen trees he fell and stumbled, his tiny passenger yelling desperately. "Oh, shut up!" snarled Bones, "what the dickens are you shouting about hey? Haven't I saved your young life, you ungrateful little devil?" Now and again he would stop to consult his illuminated compass.

In 1856 she published Aurora Leigh, a novel in verse, having for its hero a young social reformer, and for its heroine a young woman, poetical and enthusiastic, who strongly suggests Elizabeth Barrett herself. It emphasizes in verse precisely the same moral and social ideals which Dickens and George Eliot were proclaiming in all their novels.

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