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Sylvester's manicure had set up a small establishment for herself, and admitted as partner a certain chiropodist named Boone. The two artists felt that by sharing expenses they might increase profits, and there was a sleeping thought in both their minds that the partnership might ripen into marriage if the financial returns of the business were satisfactory.
The door of Uncle Sylvester's room had slowly opened, and a blue pyjama'd sleeve appeared, carefully depositing the sheaf of bows and arrows outside the door. "I say, Norah, or Bridget there, some of you take those infernal things away. And look out, will you, for the arrowheads are deadly poison. The fool who got 'em didn't know they were African, and not Indian at all! And hold on!"
By nine that evening everything was ready for a start; and sunrise the next morning saw us on the way up to the birch lot, Aunt Olive riding in the "horse-power" on a sled, which bore also a firkin of butter, a cheese, a four-gallon can of milk, a bag of bread and a large basket of eggs. One team did not get off so early, neighbor Sylvester's.
"It needed your presence, Monsieur Mouillard," said she, "to drag him from his work." "Saint Sylvester's day, too. It is fearful! Love for his art has changed your son's nature, Madame Lampron." She gave him a tender look, as on entering the room he bent over the fire and shook out his half-smoked pipe against the bars, a thing he never failed to do the moment he entered his mother's room.
His energy sets me up, his advice strengthens me, he peoples for me the vast solitude of Paris. Suppose I go to see him? A lonely watch to-night would be gloomier than usual. The death of the year brings gloomy thoughts, the thirty-first of December, St. Sylvester's day St. Sylvester! Why, that is his birthday! Ungrateful friend, to give no thought to it!
If you offered me all the gold dug in these mountains since they were discovered, I could only say what I have said before. You came from Sylvester's ranch there is time for you to get back ere the snow begins." "What a hospitable man you are! Upon my word, Gundry, you deserve to have a medal from our Humane Society.
So buried was Kent in his thoughts that he never heard Sylvester's knock, and it was not until the clerk stood at his elbow that he awoke from his absorption. "A lady to see you, Mr. Kent," he announced. "Shall I show her in?" "Certainly her name?" "She gave none." Sylvester paused on his way back to the door. "It is one of the Misses McIntyre." "Good Lord!"
And even in these school exercises we think we can discern that the future poet was already a diligent reader of Sylvester's Du Bartas , the patriarch of Protestant poetry, and of Fairfax's Tasso . There are other indications that, from very early years, poetry had assumed a place in Milton's mind, not merely as a juvenile pastime, but as an occupation of serious import.
"Yes yes, I found it, Sam. Just happened to." "Where did you find it?" "Over yonder behind that pile of boards. You know you said the money was in your overcoat pocket and and when you came in here on your way back from Sylvester's you hove your coat over onto those boards. I presume likely the the money must have fell out of the pocket then. You see, don't you, Sam?"
His English masters were Spenser, Fletcher, and Sylvester, the translator of Du Bartas's La Semaine, but nothing of Spenser's prolixity, or Fletcher's effeminacy, or Sylvester's quaintness is found in Milton's pure, energetic diction. He inherited their beauties, but his taste had been tempered to a finer edge by his studies in Greek and Hebrew poetry.
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