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Updated: June 19, 2025
"His cuckoo clock: nine dollars!" read Fico. "That was the first thing I missed that cuckoo, evenings," sighed Miss Husted. "Mozart, gone!" almost shouted Pinac, pointing to the spot on the wall where that musician's portrait had once reposed. "And Beethoven! And where is Gluck?" Then looking around: "Nom de Dieu! even his metronome have gone his metronome! Dieu, Dieu!"
As much actress as dancer and both rather superlatively." There was an odd note in Quarrington's voice, as if he were forcibly repressing some less measured form of words. Davilof glanced at him sharply. "You think so?" he said curtly. The musician's hazel eyes were burning feverishly.
As this son of one of the richest and most aristocratic families in Holland, a youth whose mother had borne the name of Egmont, entered, he drew his hand, encased in a fencing glove, from the captain's arm and said, countermanding the musician's order: "Nothing of that sort, waiter! The little keg from the Wurzburger Stein can't be empty yet. We'll find the bottom of it this evening.
"Pooh!" said Madeleine, "a little sooner or a little later what difference does it make? The people at the other houses where he dines are so tired of him that they are going to turn him out." "The gate, if you please!" Madeleine had scarcely uttered the words when they heard the old musician's call to the porter. It sounded like a cry of pain. There was a sudden silence in the kitchen.
A man who fiddles for money is not likely to ignore an opportunity to angle for the same commodity," and the banker, with a look of scorn on his face, threw himself back into the chair. "Does she know that you do not approve of this man?" "I told her that I desired the musician's visits to cease." "And her answer?"
As this son of one of the richest and most aristocratic families in Holland, a youth whose mother had borne the name of Egmont, entered, he drew his hand, encased in a fencing glove, from the captain's arm and said, countermanding the musician's order: "Nothing of that sort, waiter! The little keg from the Wurzburger Stein can't be empty yet. We'll find the bottom of it this evening.
He had been Wilhelm's teacher too, but the musician's father, the Receiver- General, would have nothing to do with the witty abbe; for he was said to have left his beloved France on account of some questionable transactions, and Herr Cornelius scented in him a Spanish spy.
"How pretty you looked as the sun shone golden upon your white robe," exclaimed Leila, "It was a sight for a mortal painter to die of!" "A genius for painting would be a grand Fairy gift," observed Ianthe. "Too doubtful of success," answered Euphrosyne, "and the Musician's power the same; besides musicians always die young and with exhausted minds. The art is too much for mortal nerves."
He had been out with Professor Robinson a month when he had a surprise. It was in the town of Glenwood. His violin drew the usual crowd, who were listening with complimentary attention, when a young man, who casually paused to judge of the musician's merits, started in amazement. "By Jove!" he exclaimed to a young lady who accompanied him. "That's my classmate, Sherwood."
That is the secret the old musician's secret; Catherine Booth's secret; Bunyan's secret; Paul's secret; the secret of all who have learned the text by heart! My grace is sufficient for thee the inrush of the grace turned Paul's torturing splinter into a cause for life-long thankfulness! My grace is sufficient for thee the inrush of the grace turned Mrs.
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