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Updated: May 4, 2025
MacGrawler was one of those vast-minded sages who, occupied in contemplating morals in the great scale, do not fritter down their intellects by a base attention to minute details.
Burning with impatience to discuss with the great MacGrawler the feasibility of his project, he quickened his pace almost into a run, and in a very few minutes, having only overthrown one chimney-sweeper and two apple-women by the way, he arrived at the sage's door.
Ye realms yet unrevealed to human sight, Ye canes athwart the hapless hands that write, Ye critic chiefs,-permit me to relate The mystic wonders of your silent state! VIRGIL, AEneid, book vi. Fortune had smiled upon Mr. MacGrawler since he first undertook the tuition of Mrs. Lobkins's protege. He now inhabited a second-floor, and defied the sheriff and his evil spirits.
What if the afflicted individual himself write us word that he never was better in his life? In short, if Horace is right, we are the very princes of poets; for I dare say, Mr. MacGrawler, that you and you, too, my little gentleman, perfectly remember the words of the wise old Roman,
But to Paul, who was predestined to enjoy a certain quantum of knowledge, circumstances happened, in the commencement of the second year of his pupilage, which prodigiously accelerated the progress of his scholastic career. At the apartment of MacGrawler, Paul one morning encountered Mr.
The next day the memoirs of the great Turpin were committed to the flames, and it was noticeable that henceforth Paul observed a choicer propriety of words, that he assumed a more refined air of dignity, and that he paid considerably more attention than heretofore to the lessons of Mr. Peter MacGrawler.
"Or else what, boy?" repeated Mr. "Why, I was thinking, sir," said Paul, with that desperate courage which gives a distinct and loud intonation to the voice of all who set, or think they set, their fate upon a cast, "I was thinking that I should like to become a critic myself!" "W-h-e-w!" whistled MacGrawler, elevating his eyebrows; "w-h-e-w! great ends have come of less beginnings!"
And then it was that Paul, made conceited by praise, said, looking contemptuously in the face of his preceptor, and swinging his legs to and fro, "And what, sir, shall I receive for the plastered Epic and the slashed Inquiry?" MacGrawler at the abrupt and astounding audacity of Paul. "Receive!" he repeated, "receive!
Augustus Tomlinson, which captivated the senses of our young hero; then, too, he was exceedingly smartly attired, wore red heels and a bag, had what seemed to Paul quite the air of a "man of fashion;" and, above all, he spouted the Latin with a remarkable grace! Some days afterwards, MacGrawler sent our hero to Mr. Tomlinson's lodgings, with his share of the joint abuse upon the poet.
I remembered you the moment I saw you, though you are surprisingly grown. How is my friend MacGrawler? still hard at work for 'The Asinaeum'?" "I believe so," said Paul, sullenly, and hastening to change the conversation; "but tell me, Mr. Tomlinson, how came you hither? I heard you had gone down to the North of England to fulfil a lucrative employment." "Possibly!
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