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Updated: May 31, 2025
Shakespeare read in the way which I have indicated, and with the help of such an edition, has a high educating value, and in particular will give the reader an insight into the English language, if not a mastery of it, that is worth a course of all the text-books of grammar and rhetoric that have been written ten times over. As to editions, I shall give only one caution. Do not get Dyce's. Mr.
For the essay on the Italian Renaissance on the Elizabethan Stage, I have had recourse, chiefly, to the fifteenth century chronicles in the "Archivio Storico Italiano," and to Dyce's Webster, Hartley Coleridge's Massinger and Ford, Churton Collins' Cyril Tourneur, and J.O. Halliwell's Marston.
The name of Wrybolt set before Dyce's mind a middle-aged man, red-necked, heavy of eyelid, with a rather punctilious hearing and authoritative mode of speech. They had met only once, here at Mrs. Woolstan's house. "I'm sure I don't know why, but just lately he's begun to make inquiries about Len, and to ask when I meant to send him to school.
Dyce's reply was rendered doubly unnecessary by the opening of the door, and the announcement of the awaited guest. "Willy! Willy!" cried Lady Ogram, with indulgent reproof. "You always used to be so punctual." The gentleman thus familiarly addressed had grey hair and walked with a stoop in the shoulders. His age was sixty, but he looked rather older.
Dyce's character and position we yet cannot but deplore, great as the provocation was. Mr.
There, now, Charlotte, don't look like that," rushing up to the tall girl and standing on tiptoe to drop a kiss on the sallow cheek "we won't go; we'll stay at home and be martyrs," and she began to tear off her hat with a tragic air. "Why not go to Madam Dyce's and ask her to loan us some of her old brocades and bonnets?" proposed Cathie Harrison suddenly.
Memoirs prefixed to Dyce's ed. of Poems , Aldine ed., Moy Thomas, 1892. Novelist, s. of William C., R.A., entered Lincoln's Inn, and was called to the Bar 1851, but soon relinquished law for literature. His first novel was Antonina , a historical romance.
"I am not dead yet," he said, with a shadow of his old mocking smile, "although I have succeeded in making a fool of myself. How is Pompey?" "Pompey!" ejaculated his mother. "I never thought of any one but you." Evadne stood in Dyce's little room, beside the bed with its gay patchwork cover. The iron-shod hoofs had done their cruel work only too well!
I think we shall have to give up pretending that you're not." "But I've given it up long since!" Iris exclaimed, with large eyes. "Didn't you know that?" "I'm not sure " he laughed "that I'm not glad of it." And they passed a much more tranquil evening than usual. Iris seemed tired; she sat with her head on Dyce's shoulder, thrilling when his lips touched her hair.
First in order, leaves 1-29, stands Fletcher's Elder Brother. I have compared the MS. with Dyce's text, and find the variations to be few and unimportant. In III. 3 Dyce follows the old copies in reading: What a noise is in this house! my head is broken Within a parenthesis: in every corner, As if the earth were shaken with some strange colic, There are stirs and motions.
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