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The great novels which now follow are the fruit of meditation, the ripening process which the war precipitated, and which was fed from the flame of Flaubert, Goncourt, Zola, and others. Neglecting almost entirely those elements of his genius which came to him as his birthright, he devotes himself henceforth to a study of the problems of life.

48 21 douros: say 'dollars' or 'cash. A duro is a Spanish coin whose par value is now five francs, before 1871, a trifle more. 48 20 a deux lieues: cf. note to 4 8. Contrast English 'thank you, which usually expresses assent pourquoi faire? cf. note to 38 21. Cf. note to 43 2.

See you, beneath you cloud so dark, Fast gliding along, a gloomy bark? Her sails are full, though the wind is still, And there blows not a breath her sails to fill! Oh! what doth that vessel of darkness bear? The silent calm of the grave is there, Save now and again a death-knell rung, And the flap of the sails with night-fog hung?

So Juan felt beneath her grace's eye As, I have sung, and I confess his feeling Acts strongly on my own, I can't tell why; But as I like plain, honest, upright dealing, I'll e'en confess I'm half afraid to try Another line; my pen's, like Juan, reeling; For 'tis indeed an awkward situation, Might end in.... heav'ns! now don't say what flirtation.

Well now, plaisanterie

O, how this spring of love resembleth The uncertain glory of an April day, Which now shows all the beauty of the sun And by and by a cloud takes all away!

Voici, cria Simon, jetant au milieu du brouhaha les beaux vers de Byron: Fill the goblet again! for I never before Felt the glow which now gladdens my heart to its core; Let us drink! Who would not, etc. A qui le tour? interrogea le Mangeux-d'Hommes quand Simon se fut rassis. Oui,

Slow moves the plumed hearse, the mourning train, I mark the sad procession with a sigh, Silently passing to that village fane, Where, HAROLD, thy forefathers mouldering lie; There sleeps THAT MOTHER, who, with tearful eye Pondering the fortunes of thy early road, Hung o'er the slumbers of thine infancy; Her Son, released from mortal labour's load, Now comes to rest, with her, in the same still abode.

C'est sur ce mot beggar que porte la plaisanterie de Bolingbroke. Our scene is alter'd from a serious thing, And now chang'd to the Beggar and the king. The beggar était, comme on l'a déj

Pisombo, Pisombo! now over the deep, A vigilant watch through the night we'll keep; Pisombo, Pisombo! for on the still sea, With sabres and guns roves the pirate free. Pisombo, Pisombo! a chapel is near, 'Tis holy St. Stephen's. Now, good Saint, hear! Pisombo, Pisombo! as wearied we pray, For favouring breezes to speed our way. Pisombo, Pisombo! how trimly we glide!