Oliphant's "Beleaguered City," to such success as they do not find in the world of daily occupation. The ordinary shilling tales of "hypnotism" and mesmerism are vulgar trash enough, and yet I can believe that an impossible romance, if the right man wrote it in the right mood, might still win us from the newspapers, and the stories of shabby love, and cheap remorses, and commonplace failures.

All this worry is bad for my temper. I'm afraid I lost it." "I can sympathise," said the tutor, "for I have lost mine. Good night." Captain Oliphant's motive for going to London was primarily to escape for a while from the unearthly dullness of Maxfield.

"I undoubtedly should," said Mr Armstrong. "Shall not you?" "No. He gives it in confidence, in the hope I shall send him money. I don't intend to do that, but it would hardly be fair to use this letter against him." "He is Captain Oliphant's murderer." "He denies it, and once more calls himself my brother." The tutor shrugged his shoulders. "As you please. Burn the letter.

Not that I would not have given willingly, for I had ample resources at the moment and was mightily concerned about the sad household. But I knew that the little Duchess would take Oliphant's ears from his head if she guessed that he had dared to borrow from me, and that, if I lent, her back would for ever be turned against me. And yet, what would follow on my refusal?

She was repeating Miss Oliphant's words under her breath: "At one time we were friends." "Won't you speak?" said Maggie impatiently. "Oh, yes, I'll speak, I'll tell you the reason.

"I see that we must agree to differ," said Dr Portman, laughing, and rising to take his leave. When he was gone, Sir Thomas, who had listened very attentively to Mr Oliphant's remarks, said, "I shall certainly put no hindrance in the way of Frank's becoming a total abstainer if you can persuade him to it, and his health does not suffer by it."

Captain Oliphant's first anxiety was naturally for his dear young ward. He found him sitting up in an arm-chair, with Rosalind reading Shakespeare to him. "Hullo, guardian!" said he, "you see the place hasn't got rid of me yet thanks to my kind nurse here." "I am indeed thankful, my dear boy, for your recovery. And how is my Rosalind?" She came and kissed him. "Very well, dear father.

Oliphant's Literary History of England in the Nineteenth Century; Beers's English Romanticism in the Nineteenth Century; Dowden's Victorian Literature, in Transcripts and Studies; Brownell's Victorian Prose Masters. Tennyson. Various good editions, Globe, Cambridge Poets, etc.

Oliphant's Memoirs, the Autobiography of B. R. Haydon, to name but a few books that come into my mind, are the sort of books that I crave for, because they are books in which one sees right into the heart and soul of another. Men can confess to a book what they cannot confess to a friend.

Five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten pounds: Rose had come to the end of her resources. She stepped away with a bitter smile on her face. The sealskin jacket was Maggie Oliphant's property for ten guineas. Maggie laid it carelessly on a table near, and returning once more to her position near the door, watched the sale proceed.