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One adventurous person betook herself to the Heralds' College, and there ascertained that a Griffin between two Wheatsheaves, which stood on the title-page of the book, formed the crest of Sir Austin Absworthy Bearne Feverel, Baronet, of Raynham Abbey, in a certain Western county folding Thames: a man of wealth and honour, and a somewhat lamentable history.
You might as well set your wheatsheaves up to oppose a field battery." "Garibaldi," muttered Adone, "he had naught but raw levies!" "Garabaldi was an instinctive military genius, like Aguto, like Ferruccio, like Gian delle Bande Neri, like all the great Condottieri.
Before her playfully imperative injunction was fairly spoken, Richard had glanced at the document and discovered a Griffin between two Wheatsheaves: his crest in silver: and below O wonderment immense! his own handwriting! He handed it to her. She took it, and put it in her bosom.
Ripton's response to this was: You put a Griffin on that cake. Wheatsheaves each side." "His crest?" Mrs. Berry said sweetly. "Oldest baronetcy 'n England!" waved Ripton. "Yes?" Mrs. Berry encouraged him on. "You think he's Richards. We're oblige' be very close. And she's the most lovely! If I hear man say thing 'gainst her." "You needn't for to cry over her, young man," said Mrs. Berry.
"A Manual of Heraldry?" the baronet politely, and it may be ironically, inquired, before it could well escape. "I like it very much," said Ripton, clutching the book in dreadful torment. "Allow me to see that you have our arms and crest correct." The baronet proffered a hand for the book. "A Griffin between two Wheatsheaves," cried Ripton, still clutching it nervously. Mr.
This antiquated structure might have been the identical one slashed at by Don Quixote. Iron grey, dilapidated, solitary, it rose between green fields and blue sky, like a lighthouse in mid-ocean. These mills are still used for crushing rye, the mash being mixed with roots for cattle, and the straw used here, as elsewhere, for liage or tying up wheatsheaves.
Broad in the glare, giving light enough to read by at a distance of three-quarters of a mile, making the moon look as blue as an ordinary English sky, its golden gleam changed to a vivid rose colour, lighting up the whole of the vast precipices of that part of the crater with a rosy red, bringing out every detail here, throwing cliffs and heights into huge black masses there, rising, falling, never intermitting, leaping in lofty jets with glorious shapes like wheatsheaves, coruscating, reddening, the most glorious thing beneath the moon was the fire-fountain of Mokuaweoweo.
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