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Updated: June 8, 2025
I would like to thank him, at least. I begged her to tell me, but she would not. She said he would not want me to know that for me to attempt to reimburse him would, to his mind, rob him of his real reward." Conrad Lagrange, his head bowed, spoke quietly to the dog at his feet. Rising, Czar laid his soft muzzle on his master's knee and looked up into the homely, world-worn face.
All around were images of that unspeakable peace which Nature whispers to those attuned to her music; all fitted to lull, but not to deject, the spirit, images dear to the holiday of the world-worn man, to the contemplation of serene and retired age, to the boyhood of poets, to the youth of lovers. But Mainwaring's step was heavy, and his brow clouded, and Nature that evening was dumb to him.
Clendon assented; he glanced at the slight, girlish figure in its black dress, at the beautiful face, with its clear and sweetly-grave eyes, the soft, dark hair, the mobile lips with a little droop at the ends which told its story so plainly to the world-worn old man who noted it. "And you work in the Reading Room all day?" "Yes," said Celia, cheerfully, and with something like pride.
Conrad Lagrange world-worn, scarred by his years of contact with the unclean, the vicious, and debasing passions of mankind grasped the young man's hand, while his eyes shone with an emotion his habitual reserve could not conceal. "I'm glad for you, Aaron" he said, adding reverently "as your mother would be glad." "I have known that you would tell me this, sometime Mr. King," said Myra Willard.
Her aunt was a world-worn, harassed woman; she had married off her four daughters with difficulty and felt the need of a change of occupation; but she accepted as a matter of course the duty of marrying off Amabel. That task accomplished she would go to bed every night at half past ten and devote her days to collecting coins and enamels.
If the lost in hell could speak to us they would tell us that there is no escape. and oh! the wonder of it all, "He came to where I was." The words of this beautiful hymn describe it "I looked and there was none to help, 'No man' could meet my case: A weary, world-worn heart was mine, Without a resting place.
Pain on Thee doth press Its quivering cheek, and all the weariness, The want that keep their silence, till from Thee They hear the gracious summons, none beside Hath spoken to the world-worn, 'Come to me, Tell forth their heavy secrets.
How he shows us the woman, when she takes her stand on the false masculine ground of intellect, working out her own moral punishment, by destroying in herself the tender heart of flesh, which is either woman's highest blessing or her bitterest curse; how she loses all feminine sensibility to the under-current of feeling in us poor world-worn, case-hardened men, and falls from pride to sternness, from sternness to sheer inhumanity.
To him the Church was the ark of refuge from all human ills, and gladly would he have welcomed within its fold any weary or world-worn soul. But with Father Paul it was different. One look in his face was enough to tell that; and having lived and sinned, repented and suffered, he was far more able to offer counsel to one tempted and sometimes suffering, though perhaps in a very different fashion.
And now, here he was, pinching himself to prove that he was awake, stretching his world-worn bones under a dainty table to which real food was being brought by well, he was obliged to pinch himself again.
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