The New Monthly Magazine, Volume 102

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Chapman and Hall, 1854
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Page 126 - And brake up for it my decreed place, and set bars and doors, And said, "Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further: and here shall thy proud waves be stayed?
Page 191 - THERE is not so variable a thing in nature as a lady's head-dress. Within my own memory, I have known it rise and fall above thirty degrees. About ten years ago it shot up to a very great height, insomuch that the female part of our species were much taller than the men *. The women were of such an enormous stature, that ' we appeared as grasshoppers before them t.
Page 194 - Their petticoats, which began to heave and swell before you left us, are now blown up into a most enormous concave, and rise every day more and more. In short, sir, since our women know themselves to be out of the eye of the Spectator, they will be kept within no compass.
Page 187 - ... bras between his hands, as if he wished to compress it, or under his arm; knees bent and feet on tiptoe, as if afraid of a wet floor. His dress in visiting was most usually in summer, when...
Page 291 - ... past the tyrant's stroke; Care no more to clothe and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak : The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust.
Page 313 - When Hopkins dies, a thousand lights attend The wretch who living saved a candle's end...
Page 194 - Not to be tedious, there is scarce any emotion in the mind which does not produce a suitable agitation in the fan ; insomuch, that if I only see the fan of a disciplined lady, I know very well whether she laughs, frowns, or blushes.
Page 496 - At the distance of 1200 yards the whole line of the enemy belched forth, from thirty iron mouths, a flood of smoke and flame, through which hissed the deadly balls. Their flight was marked by instant gaps in our ranks, by dead men and horses, by steeds flying wounded or riderless across the plain.
Page 290 - With riotous feeders, when our vaults have wept With drunken spilth of wine, when every room Hath blazed with lights and bray'd with minstrelsy, I have retired me to a wasteful cock, And set mine eyes at flow.
Page 485 - Triumphant Tories and desponding Whigs Forget their feuds, and join to save their wigs. Box'd in a chair, the beau impatient sits, While spouts run clattering o'er the roof by fits, And ever and anon with frightful din The leather sounds ; he trembles from within.

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