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I need monotony too, an eventless exterior life, before I can live in the world within. June 15th. Yesterday we went to the Uffizi gallery, and, of course, I took the opportunity to look again at the Venus de' Medici after Powers's attack upon her face.
She half led, half dragged her up a stair that rose from a corner of the hall gallery to the battlements of a little square tower, whence a few yards of the beach, through a chain of slight openings amongst the pines, was visible.
Jones was a great walker, exercise always cleared his mind and strengthened his judgment. He set off on a long walk now, passing the National Gallery to Regent Circus, then up Regent Street and Oxford Street, and along Oxford Street towards the West. He found himself in High Street Kensington, in Hammersmith, and then in those dismal regions where the country struggles with the town.
Around the Fountain Court along the north cloister of which the public way passes to the gardens are entrances to various apartments allotted to private residents. On the east side flights of steps go up to the two private suites, known as the Gold Staff Gallery, at the south-eastern corner of the Palace above the State Rooms.
A sort of inclined tunnel led upward for a way, and they found the floor of it both rough and steep. Then a sudden turn brought them to a narrow gallery where the buggy could not pass. This delayed and bothered them for a while, because they did not wish to leave the buggy behind them.
"Your gallery Ha we pass'd through, not without much content In many singularities; but we saw not That which my daughter came to look upon, The state of her mother." Winter's Tale. It seemed to me strange, that all this time I had heard no music in the fairy palace.
He loved to take Paul through his collection and point out the beauties and claim his admiration. He had converted a conservatory running along one side of the house into a picture gallery, and this was filled with his masterpieces of pictorial villainy. Here Paul was at first astonished at recognizing replicas of pictures which hung in other rooms. Mr. Finn explained.
The ball was in the statue gallery illumined on this night in the Russian fashion, which while it diffused a brilliant light throughout the beautiful chamber, was peculiarly adapted to develope the contour of the marble forms of grace and loveliness that were ranged around. "Where is Arabella?" enquired Lord Marney of his mother, "I want to present young Huntingford to her.
A long gallery was next; it was very dark just light enough to show that, instead of a wall on one side, there was a grating of iron, which parted off a dismal dungeon, from whence issued the groans of those poor victims whom the cruel giant reserved in confinement for his own voracious appetite.
She was seized, too, with a stabbing memory of a day in the Bologna Gallery with Manisty! She hurried across the room to look at the picture. The priest followed her. 'Ah! that, Madame, he said with enthusiasm that is a capolavoro. It is by Michael Angelo. Eleanor looked at him in astonishment. 'This one? It is a copy, Padre, of Raphael's St.
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