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It contains old English codes of law, beginning with Ethelbert's, much ecclesiastical and historical information, records of privileges of the cathedral, and some interesting forms of excommunication, oaths, etc. Leonard who had got it into his possession. During the Civil Wars it was in the charge of Sir Roger Twysden and was used by Dugdale for his great work.
She remembered that old Mrs Duncomb had spoken complainingly of the lonesomeness which had come upon her floor by the vacation of the chambers opposite her on the landing. The tenant had gone a day or two before, leaving the rooms empty of furniture, and the key with a Mr Twysden. Mrs.
She had from Mr Twysden, she said, the key of the vacant chambers opposite to Mrs Duncomb's. ``Now let me see, she continued, ``if I cannot get out of the back chamber window into the gutter, and so into Mrs Duncomb's apartment. The other women urged her to try. Mrs Oliphant set off, her heels echoing in the empty rooms.
To his publication of some of our earlier chronicles we owe the series of similar publications which bear the name of Camden, Twysden, and Gale. But as a branch of literature, English History in the new shape which we have noted began in the work of the poet Daniel.
A third account by Knyghton, a canon of Leicester, will be found in the collection of Twysden. At the end of this century and the beginning of the next the annals which had been carried on in the Abbey of St.
It was even said that an Irish prelate Dr. Twysden, Bishop of Raphoe whose incurable love of adventure had drawn him to "the road," received the penalty of his uncanonical diversion in the shape of a bullet from a traveller whom he had stopped on Hounslow Heath. The Lord Mayor was made to stand and deliver on Turnham Green.
Twysden, in his Historiae Anglicanae Scriptores X, sets forth the story of Oliver, who chose a high tower as his starting-point, and launched himself in the air. As a matter of course, he fell, permanently injuring himself, and died some time later.
I should almost be glad if Woolcomb would walk in and talk to me; or Twysden reappear, take his place in that chair opposite me, and begin one of his tremendous stories. Madmen, you know, see visions, hold conversations with, even draw the likeness of, people invisible to you and me. Is this making of people out of fancy madness? and are novel-writers at all entitled to strait-waistcoats?
'In the Sack! A name for a story! But I am tired of corpses. They pervade my works. They give "a bouquet, a fragrance," as Mr. Talbot Twysden said about his cheap claret. 'You read the old Masters? 'The obsolete Thackeray? Yes, I know him pretty well. 'What are you publishing just now? 'This to an author? Don't you know? 'I blush, said Logan.
Talbot Twysden is mentioned a man whom you and I know to be a wretched ordinaire, but who persists in treating himself as if he was the finest '20 port. In our Britain there are hundreds of men like him; for ever striving to swell beyond their natural size, to strain beyond their natural strength, to step beyond their natural stride.
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