Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 24, 2025
At the latter place the first entries in the parish register date back to 1729, and the congregation numbered about one hundred communicant members when Muhlenberg took charge. In 1732 Pastor Schulz, accompanied by two lay delegates, left for Europe to collect money, and, above all, to secure laborers from Halle, for the mission-work in Pennsylvania.
The Swede, Rudbeck, asserts that Paradise was in Scandinavia; some Russian writers supposed it to have been in Siberia; and the German writers, Hasse and Schulz, on the coast of Prussia. Eastern traditions place it in Ceylon, and regard the mountain of Rahoun as the spot where Adam was buried.
There were humble people in the provinces who read his lieder and wrote to him, like old Schulz, and felt themselves one with him. There were poor artists, a composer among others, who had not, and could not attain, not only success, but self-expression, and it made them glad to have their ideas realized by Christophe.
"Schulz?" she said interrogatively. "Nicht da," replied the woman without looking up from her rubbing. "Has he gone out?" asked Mary in English. "Verstehe nicht!" mumbled the woman. But she put down her cleaning-rag and, breathing heavily, mustered the girl with a leisurely stare. Mary repeated the question in German whereupon the woman brightened up considerably. The Herr was not at home.
Besides, the man's back was turned towards him and his face was half hidden in the grass. Schulz prowled along the road and about the meadow with his heart beating: "It is he ... No, it is not he..." He dared not call to him. An idea struck him; he began to sing the last bars of Christophe's Lied: "Auf!
And so old Schulz listened, in the silence of his solitary life, to the forest filled with birds, and, like the monk of the legend, who slept in the ecstasy of the song of the magic bird, the years passed over him and the evening of life was come, but still he had the heart of a boy of twenty. He was not only rich in music. He loved the poets old and new.
Schulz had not seen anybody all day. It was dark in the room. A yellow fog was drawn over the windows like a screen, making it impossible to see out. The heat of the stove was thick and oppressive.
Come not in the house until you are cleaned. Ach!" Ex-Sea-Captain Schulz, now prune-grower in the mountain boundary west of Santa Clara Valley, turned in at the kitchen door. "I don't know what to do wit' the boy. Go, mine Anna, get the lad a clean shirt, and take it down to the creek." On Anna's return from the bathing pool she said softly to her mother, "Willie isn't at the creek.
"But I was at the War Office for a bit before I was demobilized and I heard fellows speak of him. Counter-espionage, isn't he?" "That's right," nodded Herr Schulz. "You can read his letter to me introducing Miss Trevert." He handed a sheet of paper to Robin. You will have read about it in the English papers.
On the shelf by the bed he had placed books chosen from among his most precious and beloved. There was no detail that he had not lovingly thought out. But it was a waste of trouble: Christophe saw nothing. He flung himself on his bed and went sound asleep at once. Schulz could not sleep. He was pondering the joy that he had had and the sorrow he must have at the departure of his friend.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking