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She then commenced, and I thought no seraph's voice could be sweeter, as she sang one of Mary Howitt's beautiful translations:
"There isn't any sick baby, and Mabel had a 'kerchief pinned about her head. I say it's Red Riding Hood," answered Liddy, who had begun to learn Mary Howitt's pretty poem for her next piece, and knew all about it. The question was settled by the appearance of the wolf in the second scene, and such a wolf!
Daniel Howitt; fine looking man, fine; brown eyes; great voice; gentleman, sir, gentleman, if he is keeping sheep in this wilderness. Blast it all, just like him, just like him; always keeping somebody's sheep; born to be a shepherd; born to be. Know him?" At mention of Mr. Howitt's name, Young Matt had looked at his father quickly. When the stranger paused, he answered, "Yes, sir.
Left to himself, King, after a few days, made another effort to find the natives, and this time succeeded, living with their assistance until rescued by Howitt's relief party on September 15th, having for nearly three months subsisted on the hospitality of the natives.
"I should love to see your garden now. There is a peculiar satisfaction in having a very little patch all blooming into beauty. I had such an one in my humble home in Boston, some years ago. It used to make me think of Mary Howitt's very pleasant poetry: "'Yes, in the poor man's garden grow Far more than herbs and flowers; Kind thoughts, contentment, peace of mind, And joy for weary hours.
The Life of George Stephenson; the Electra of Sophocles; the Agamemnon of Aeschylus, Harriet Martineau's British Empire in India; and History of the Thirty Years' Peace; Béranger, Modern Painters, containing some of the finest writing of the age; Overbech on Greek art; Anna Mary Howitt's book on Munich; Carlyle's Life of Frederick the Great; Darwin's Origin of Species; Emerson's Man the Reformer, "which comes to me with fresh beauty and meaning"; Buckle's History of Civilization; Plato and Aristotle.
"Who is he?" and Daisy hoped it would be Demi. "You'll see," was all Asia would say; and Sally went off in great spirits, singing a verse from dear Mary Howitt's sweet story in rhyme: "Away went little Mabel, With the wheaten cake so fine, The new-made pot of butter, And the little flask of wine." "Put everything but the apple into the store-closet for the present," said Mrs.
Howitt's stay at the ranch, and while Young Matt was in the burr- house with his father, they had gone over yet again the familiar incidents of the ghost story; how "Budd Wilson seen her as close as from here t' th' shop yonder." How "Joe Gardner's mule had gone plumb hog-wild when he tried to ride past the ol' ruins near th' ranch."
Howitt's face, that, whatever he saw, it was not this. "I feel somehow like I could do it, if I had a chance," she murmured. There was no answer. After a time, Sammy stole a look at her quiet companion. What could the man in the chair be thinking about? His pipe was neglected; his gray head bowed.
Howitt sets forth, we do presume to think that it is high time to protest against Mr. Howitt's spiritualism, as being a little in excess of the peculiar merit of Thomas L. Harris's sermons, and somewhat TOO "full, out-gushing, unstinted, and absorbing". "After the valets, the master!" is Mr. Fechter's rallying cry in the picturesque romantic drama which attracts all London to the Lyceum Theatre.
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