A Book of Dartmoor

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New Amsterdam, 1900 - Dartmoor (England) - 283 pages
 

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Page 90 - Till the last trumpet ; for charitable prayers, Shards, flints and pebbles should be thrown on her : Yet here she is allow'd her virgin crants, Her maiden strewments and the bringing home Of bell and burial.
Page 131 - I oft have heard of Lydford law, How in the morn they hang and draw, And sit in judgment after.
Page 130 - Here lies in horizontal position the outside case of George Routleigh, watchmaker ; whose abilities in that line were an honour to his profession. Integrity was the mainspring, and prudence the regulator, of all the actions of his life.
Page 129 - ... bread, one hen's egg, and a little milk mixed with water. This, he said, was the custom of those of whom he had learned the rule of regular discipline ; first to consecrate to our Lord, by prayer and fasting, the places which they had newly received for building a monastery or a church.
Page 191 - And when shall I see again my grey mare ?" All along, down along, out along, lee. " By Friday soon, or Saturday noon, Wi' Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy, Dan'l Whiddon, Harry Hawk, old Uncle Tom Cobley and all,
Page 207 - At midday a struggle takes place, at the risk of cut hands, for a slice, it being supposed to confer luck for the ensuing year on the fortunate devourer. As an act of gallantry...
Page 135 - They are a peculiar of their own making, exempt from bishop, archdeacon, and all authority, either ecclesiastical or civil.
Page 182 - ... a ball of fire came in likewise at the window and passed through the church, which so affrighted the congregation that most of them fell down in their seats, some upon their knees, others on their faces, and some one upon another, crying out of burning and scalding and all giving themselves up for dead.
Page 130 - Key : even then he was easily set right again. He had the art of disposing his time so well that his hours glided away in one continual round of pleasure and delight, till an unlucky minute put a period to his existence. He departed this life Nov. 14, 1802, aged 57 : wound up, in hopes of being taken in hand by his Maker ; and of being thoroughly cleaned, repaired, and set a-going in the world to come.
Page 192 - When the wind whistles cold on the moor of a night, All along, down along, out along, lee. Tom Pearse's old mare doth appear, gashly white, Wi

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