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Updated: May 11, 2025
Four rows of windows divide the front. The lower ones, barred with iron, are dismal to the eye. Over the principal entrance are the Boccarini arms, carved on a stone escutcheon, supported by two angels, the whole so moss-eaten the details cannot be traced. Above is a marquis's coronet in which a swallow has built its nest. Both in and out it is a house where poverty has set its seal.
He said that G.H.Q. was a close corporation in the hands of the military clique who had muddled through the South African War, and were now going to muddle through a worse one. They were, he said, intrenched behind impregnable barricades of old, moss-eaten traditions, red tape, and caste privilege. They were, of course, patriots who believed that the Empire depended upon their system.
"He has heard of my imprisonment," said the luckless artist to himself. "Come, children," said he, leading his daughter and the young man into the garden; they all sat down on the moss-eaten seat in the summer-house. "Monsieur le Comte, do you love my daughter as well as I loved her mother?" he asked. "More, monsieur," said the sculptor.
"He has heard of my imprisonment," said the luckless artist to himself. "Come, children," said he, leading his daughter and the young man into the garden; they all sat down on the moss-eaten seat in the summer-house. "Monsieur le Comte, do you love my daughter as well as I loved her mother?" he asked. "More, monsieur," said the sculptor.
Say, it will be fine to start a regular newspaper," went on Bart. "I guess you'd wake some of the old-timers up they are so moss-eaten. This town needs a bright, up-to-date sheet." "We are going to push the printing and publishing business all we can," answered Darry, earnestly. How he and his brother carried out their project I shall relate in another story, to be called, "Working Hard to Win."
He saw that the wall was moss-eaten, that the verdant carpet was dried up by frost, that the piles of timber had been rotted by rain. It was perfect devastation. The yellow twilight fell like fine dust upon the ruins of all that had been most dear to him. He was obliged to close his eyes that he might again behold the lane green, and live his happy hours afresh.
A single tombstone, that of Abbe Caffin, brand-new and upright, could be perceived in the centre of the ground. Save this, all around there were only broken fragments of crosses, withered tufts of box, and old slabs split and moss-eaten. There were not two burials a year.
In the centre of that avenue is a fountain, surmounted by a Triton so grey and moss-eaten, that though he holds his conch to his swelling lips, curling his tail in the arid basin, his instrument has had a sinecure for at least fifty years; and did not think fit even to play when the Bourbons, in whose time he was erected, came back from their exile.
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