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Updated: May 14, 2025
As for me, they gave me a grandson instead of two granddaughters, and a Catholic baptism instead of a Protestant. That does not make any difference. One really has to lie a little to divert oneself. CI. TO GEORGE SAND Saint Sylvester's night, one o'clock, 1869 Why should I not begin the year of 1869 in wishing to you and to yours "Happy New Year and many of them"? It is rococo, but it pleases me.
Chikno, and Sylvester and his two children. Sylvester, it will be as well to say, was a widower, and had consequently no one to cook his victuals for him, supposing he had any, which was not always the case, Sylvester's affairs being seldom in a prosperous state.
Elizabeth Eliza pointed to the road they had come. A smile came over Mr. Sylvester's face; he knew the country well. "You mean the farm-house behind the hill, at the end of the road?" he asked. The Peterkins all nodded affirmatively. Ann Maria could not restrain herself, as broad smiles came over the faces of all the party. "Why, that is the Poor-house!" she exclaimed. "The town farm," Mr.
"If you wish to know who administered that aconitine poison, you will have to find out who Jimmie was with at the McIntyre house in the early hours of Tuesday morning." The sharp imperative ring of the telephone bell cut the silence which followed. Kent, standing nearest the instrument, picked it up, and recognized Sylvester's voice over the wire. "A message has just come, Mr.
In its immediate vicinity are many of the treasures of the library, Zahn's great work on Pompeii, three volumes of very large folios, containing splendidly-colored frescos from the walls of the dead city; Sylvester's elaborate work of "Fac-Similes of the Illuminated Manuscripts of the Middle Ages," in four large folios; and also Count Bastard's great work on the same, seeming more sumptuous in gold, silver, and colors.
His thin lips, enclosed in an ill-tempered parenthesis of double lines, twisted themselves slightly. "I'll be derned!" he said. "But, look here, my man, I didn't order Hamburger steak; I ordered chicken." Dickie deliberately smoothed down the cowlick on his head. He wore his look of a seven-year-old with which he was wont to face the extremity of Sylvester's exasperation.
Sylvester told me you and your son had an appointment with him for this afternoon. Now there was something we or I, anyhow wanted to talk with you about, so I thought we might as well make one job of it. Sylvester's a pretty busy man, and I know he has other things to attend to; so why not let him go ahead and tell you what you come to hear, and then we can take up the other part by ourselves.
On New Year's Eve, which is Saint Sylvester's Day, Bohemian lads, armed with guns, form themselves into circles and fire thrice into the air. This is called "Shooting the Witches" and is supposed to frighten the witches away.
Enough that, when Dick Sylvester returned, I was pretty well fagged out, and the baby was rolled up, an immense bolster, at the foot of the couch, asleep. Sylvester's first words after our greeting were, "Isn't he delicious?" "Perfectly. Where did you get him?" "Lying under his dead mother, five miles from here," said Dick, lighting his pipe.
Grumbit is." The lady in question arrived at this juncture, fortified by a new and imposing cap, and laden with candles and a tea-tray, which she deposited, with much clatter of teaspoons, on a table by Mrs. Sylvester's side. "Thank you, Mrs. Grumbit. And now will you come to a poor bachelor's assistance, and pour out tea, Mrs. Sylvester? And I'm very sorry, but I haven't got any sugar-tongs.
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