Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Volume 70

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Thomes & Talbot, 1889

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Page 209 - WE had in this village, more than twenty years ago, an idiot boy, whom I well remember, who, from a child, showed a strong propensity to bees ; they were his food, his amusement, his sole object : and as people of this cast have seldom more than one point in view, so this lad exerted all his few faculties on this one pursuit. In the winter he dozed away his time, within his father's house, by the fireside, in a kind of torpid state...
Page 209 - Where metheglin was making, he would linger round the tubs and vessels, begging a draught of what he called bee-wine. As he ran about, he used to make a humming noise with his lips, resembling the buzzing of bees. This lad was lean and sallow, and of a cadaverous complexion; and, except in his favourite pursuit, in which he was wonderfully adroit, discovered no manner of understanding.
Page 333 - What do you say to the light of the sun ? ' ' How can that be ? ' asked the doctor. ' It is nothing else,' said the engineer : ' it is light bottled up in the earth for tens of thousands of years, — light, absorbed by plants and vegetables, being necessary for the condensation of carbon during the process of their growth, if it be not carbon in another...
Page 485 - No, sir,' answered the old Borderer, ' I have no command of my memory. It only retains what hits my fancy, and probably, sir, if you were to preach to me for two hours, I would not be able when you finished to remember a word you had been saying.
Page 209 - ... and at once disarm them of their weapons, and suck their bodies for the sake of their honey-bags. Sometimes he would fill his bosom between his shirt and his skin with a number of these captives; and sometimes would confine them in bottles. He was a very...
Page 262 - My sledge and hammer lie reclined, My bellows, too, have lost their wind; . My fire's extinct, my forge decayed, And in the dust my vice is laid. My coal is spent, my iron's gone, My nails are drove, my work is done ; My fire-dried corpse lies here at rest, And, smoke-like, soars up to be bless'd.
Page 211 - The love of higher things and better days ; The unbounded hope, and heavenly ignorance Of what is call'd the world, and the world's ways ; The moments when we gather from a glance More joy than from all future pride or praise, Which kindle manhood, but can ne'er entrance The heart in an existence of its own, Of which another's bosom is the zone.
Page 261 - I do not weep, my dearest life, For I have got another wife ; Therefore, I cannot come to thee, For I must go to.
Page 101 - I considered the patient in danger as long as the doctor continued his visits.
Page 162 - God in grove and grot. In summer, when the days are long, Alone I wander, muse alone. I see her not ; but that old song Under the fragrant wind is blown, In summer, when the days are long. Alone I wander in the wood : But one fair spirit hears my sighs; And half I see, so glad and good, The honest daylight of her eyes, That charmed me under earlier skies. In summer, when the days are long, I love her as we loved of old.

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