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You asked me very straightly what I knew of Sir Blaise Mickleton, and very straightly I tended you my knowledge. It is not my fault, but rather your misfortune, that you happen to be Sir Blaise Mickleton." Sir Blaise dropped his hand to his sword-hilt. "You Puritan jack," he shouted, "will you try sharper conclusions?" In a moment and involuntarily Evander's hand sought his own weapon.
Peter's to the Coliseum, and informs you what you will see by the way. The ground interests in Virgil, because it will be Rome, and not because it is Evander's rural domain. Mr. Bowles then proceeds to press Homer into his service in answer to a remark of Mr. Campbell's, that "Homer was a great describer of works of art." Mr.
If this be true it is as uncritical to search for the poet's own conception of divinity in these personages as it would be to infer his taste in furniture from the straw cot which he chooses to give his hero at Evander's hovel.
This only was left in his strait, to kindle them to valour, now by entreaties, now by taunts: 'Whither flee you, comrades? by your deeds of bravery, by your leader Evander's name, by your triumphant campaigns, and my hope that now rises to rival my father's honour, trust not to flight. Our swords must hew a way through the enemy.
She reached out her hand to strike the bell upon the table, while Evander Cloud, still impassive, paid a salutation to his unwilling hostess and made a motion to depart. But on the instant both were chilled into immobility by an amazing interruption. Brilliana's hand never touched the bell; Evander's hand never found the handle of the door.
The very Cloaca of Tarquin at Rome are as poetical as Richmond Hill; many will think so: take away Rome and leave the Tiber and the seven hills in the nature of Evander's time. Let Mr. Bowles, or Mr. Wordsworth, or Mr. Southey, or any of the other "naturals," make a poem upon them, and then see which is most poetical their production, or the commonest guide-book which tells you the road from St.
He did not hear what Halfman said, though Halfman spoke it aloud, with all the lovers of all time for audience: "There goes the blessedest man in all the world." Then, with Evander's cloak about him and Evander's hat upon his head, Halfman went out into the garden. At the sound of Evander's step Brilliana turned and rose to greet him. "My dear!" she cried, her eyes luminous, her breast heaving.
He was flushed and drunk with exhilaration; he could speak no more; the timely episode tickled his tired brain like wine; he caught at the table for support and muttered inarticulately. Thoroughgood, who had secured Evander's fallen sword, interpolated a word of explanation. "It is Sir Rufus, my lady Sir Rufus and his friends."
The October sun shone as if the royal triumph, yonder at Edgehill and here at Harby, had rekindled summer on the chilling altar of the year, and the hues of the lingering flowers flamed in the celestial fires. If Evander's thoughts were sable, he did not allow them to stain the fair day and his companion's gayety. Halfman swam now in the extravagance of admiration for so miraculous a Puritan.
"More than life, more than all things in the wide world?" Evander's answer came as flash to flint. "More than life; more than all things in this wide world " there was a momentary fall in his voice; then he added, "save honor." A little sudden fear pricked at Brilliana's heart, but she tried to deny it with a little, teasing laugh. "Oh, that wonderful word 'honor," she mocked.
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