Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 15, 2025
"A pretty thing he has thought to surprise us with!" roared angry voices. "Away from the tribune with the talentless rhymster! Away with the fool! Hurl rotten apples, bad eggs, at the empty-pated idiot! Give us stones! Fetch stones!"
Straws, editor and rhymster, was seated on the semi-Oriental, semi-French gallery of the little café, called the Veranda, sipping his absinthe, smoking a cheroot and watching the rain drip from the roof of the balcony, spatter on the iron railing and form a shower bath for the pedestrians who ventured from beneath the protecting shelter.
To feel the full glory of the sun, the joy of the Western wind, to hear the aphonous whisperings of the flowers, to be fancifully cognisant of "the music of the spheres"; better this with only a garret for your environment, than to be a wealthy Peter Bell in a palace, or a lord of many acres who sees nothing beyond its intrinsic value in a Turner, and finds Shelley poor stuff and Tennyson only a rhymster.
You turned poet, too, Father Holland!" said I. "We might be on a pilgrimage to Helicon." "To where?" says Grant, whose knowledge of classics was less than my own, which was precious little indeed. "Helicon." At that Father Holland burst in such roars of laughter, the rhymster took personal offense, dug his moccasins against the horse's sides and rode ahead.
Standing near the rhymster, story-writer and journalist, was a tall young man, dressed in creole fashion. He followed the glances of Straws' questioners and a pallor overspread his dark complexion as he looked at the object of their attention. "The stroller!" he exclaimed half audibly. "Her counterpart doesn't exist." He stepped back where he could see her more plainly.
"Plagued ill with the poetry Fellowes writes," said Branksome; "is that not true, Mistress Dearmer?" "I am no judge, since Mr. Fellowes has never made verses for me," answered the lady. "So facile a poet may remedy that on the instant," said Branksome. "Come, Master Rhymster, there's a kiss from the reddest lips I know waiting as payment for a stanza."
"The last I heard was that he was scouring London, tearing his periwig in pieces in despair that the race of poets was extinct, and he could only find the most wretched doggerel mongers, whose productions were too vile to be tolerated. Has the noble lord found a better rhymster? Or will the victory of the great Duke have to go unsung by the Muse?" "What! have you not heard the end of that matter?
Faith, 'tis the first time I've seen poetry in buckskin of this particular binding," and he wheeled his broncho out, leaving me abreast of the rhymster. Pierre's lips began to frame some answer to the churchman. "Have a care, Father," I warned. "You've escaped the broncho; but look out for the poet." "Save us! What's coming now?" gasped the priest. "Ha!
Allan had discovered that his adopted son was a rhymster, he had rebuked him severely for such idle waste of time, and in a vain attempt to clip the wings of Pegasus, threatened him with punishment if he should hear of such folly again. Mrs.
John Troutbeck, assistant rector of King's Chapel, where he officiated for twenty years. He was an ardent loyalist and returned to England in 1776. As an example of the change in public sentiment with the lapse of time, we learn that this noted clergyman was a distiller as well, of whom a witty rhymster wrote: "His Sunday aim is to reclaim Those that in vice are sunk.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking