Scribner's Magazine, Volume 59Edward Livermore Burlingame, Robert Bridges, Alfred Sheppard Dashiell, Harlan Logan Charles Scribners Sons, 1916 - American periodicals |
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Popular passages
Page 572 - Yet nature is made better by no mean But nature makes that mean : so, over that art Which you say adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock, And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race : this is an art Which does mend nature, change it rather, but The art itself is nature.
Page 735 - Yon rising Moon that looks for us again — How oft hereafter will she wax and wane ; How oft hereafter rising look for us Through this same Garden — and for one in vain ! ci.
Page 126 - I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine. I sent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honoring thee As giving it a hope, that there It could not withered be. But thou thereon didst only breathe, And sent'st it back to me; Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, Not of itself, but thee.
Page 146 - You common cry of curs ! whose breath I hate As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize As the dead carcasses of unburied men That do corrupt my air, — I banish yon ; And here remain with your uncertainty!
Page 280 - A grove of giant redwoods or sequoias should be kept just as we keep a great and beautiful cathedral. The extermination of the passenger-pigeon meant that mankind was just so much poorer; exactly as in the case of the destruction of the cathedral at Rheims.
Page 256 - The whole world sprang to arms. On the head of Frederic is all the blood which was shed in a war which raged during many years and in every quarter of the globe, the blood of the column of Fontenoy, the blood of the mountaineers who were slaughtered at Culloden. The evils produced by his wickedness were felt in lands where the name of Prussia was unknown ; and, in order that he might rob a neighbour whom he had promised to defend, black men fought on the coast of Coromandel, and red men scalped each...
Page 330 - Is it possible that any one could not see — ?" I wondered. I did not finish the thought: what I meant was undefinable. I stood up and wandered toward the gate. I was beginning to want to know more; not to see more — I was by now so sure it was not a question of seeing — but to feel more: feel all the place had to communicate. "But to get in one will have to rout out the keeper," I thought reluctantly, and hesitated.
Page 301 - He went to the window and stood with his back to her. For a full minute there was silence in the room, and then Baron spoke. He did not turn around. "Yes, there were the police," he repeated, "but I couldn't help remembering that there was also I — and we. I had an idea we could do a good deal better than the police, in a case like this. I don't understand how women feel, mother, but I can't help remembering that every little girl is going to be a woman some day. And I've no doubt that the kind...
Page 469 - THERE'S a path that leads to Nowhere In a meadow that I know, Where an inland island rises And the stream is still and slow; There it wanders under willows And beneath the silver green Of the birches' silent shadows Where the early violets lean.
Page 256 - On the head of Frederic is all the blood which was shed in a war which raged during many years and in every quarter of the globe — the blood of the column of Fontenoy, the blood of the brave mountaineers who were slaughtered at Culloden.