Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 5, 2025
This scrap of hair almost seemed a mere oversight; the rest of the face was of the type that is best shaven clear-cut, ascetic, and in its way noble. Syme drew closer and closer, noting all this, and still the figure did not stir. At first an instinct had told Syme that this was the man whom he was meant to meet. Then, seeing that the man made no sign, he had concluded that he was not.
They went at such a rate that distances were shortened beyond belief, and Syme saw the Albert Hall in Kensington when he thought that he was still in Paddington. The animal's pace was even more fast and free through the empty, aristocratic streets of South Kensington, and he finally headed towards that part of the sky-line where the enormous Wheel of Earl's Court stood up in the sky.
He was a man of great taste and artistic feeling, and I was able even at that time to appreciate the beauty of his designs. One of the most original characters about the foundry, however, was Johnie Syme. He took charge of the old Boulton and Watt steam-engine, which gave motion to the machinery of the works.
He had a black French beard cut square and a black English frock-coat cut even squarer. But Syme, sensitive to such things, felt somehow that the man carried a rich atmosphere with him, a rich atmosphere that suffocated. It reminded one irrationally of drowsy odours and of dying lamps in the darker poems of Byron and Poe.
When Mrs Mildmay entered her own room on returning from the drive, a little figure, unexceptionably neat as to hair and hands and garments, darted out from behind the window-curtains whence she had been watching the drive up to the house. 'Mamma, dear, she exclaimed, 'don't ring for Syme. Mayn't I help you to take off your things for once?
My friend, whom I seconded under somewhat deceptive circumstances, seems to me to exaggerate very much the possibilities of a general rising; but even he would hardly maintain, I suppose, that you were not safe with the gendarmes." Syme nodded gravely; then he said abruptly "And your other reason for coming here?"
Syme gives a highly-coloured and one-sided view of the poet riding in a storm between Gatehouse and Kenmure, where we are assured he composed this ode.
"We are too late," he said, "the hygienic Doctor has gone to bed." "What do you mean?" asked Syme. "Does he live over there, then?" "Yes," said de Worms, "behind that particular window which you can't see. Come along and get some dinner. We must call on him tomorrow morning."
But presently as they talked they all smiled and one of them smiled on one side. SYME put the field-glasses from his eyes with an almost ghastly relief. "The President is not with them, anyhow," he said, and wiped his forehead. "But surely they are right away on the horizon," said the bewildered Colonel, blinking and but half recovered from Bull's hasty though polite explanation.
For if the Secretary stood for that philosopher who loves the original and formless light, Syme was a type of the poet who seeks always to make the light in special shapes, to split it up into sun and star. The philosopher may sometimes love the infinite; the poet always loves the finite. For him the great moment is not the creation of light, but the creation of the sun and moon.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking