Passages of a Working Life During Half a Century: With a Prelude of Early Reminiscences, Volume 1

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Bradbury & Evans, 1864 - Publishers and publishing
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Page 334 - Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita Mi ritrovai per una selva oscura, Chè la diritta via era smarrita.
Page 135 - ... without actual malice, and without gross negligence; and that before the commencement of the action, or at the earliest opportunity afterwards...
Page 345 - I think poor beggars court St. Giles, Rich beggars court St. Stephen ; And Death looks down with nods and smiles, And makes the odds all even : I think some die upon the field, And some upon the billow, And some are laid beneath a shield, And some beneath a willow. I think that very few have...
Page 146 - FAMED for contemptuous breach of sacred ties, By headless Charles see heartless Henry lies ; Between them stands another sceptred thing — It moves, it reigns — in all but name, a king : Charles to his people, Henry to his wife, — In him the double tyrant starts to life : Justice and Death have mixed their dust in vain, Each royal Vampire wakes to life again.
Page 134 - Adonis in Loveliness, was a corpulent gentleman of fifty ! In short, that this delightful, blissful, wise, pleasurable, honourable, virtuous, true, and immortal PRINCE, was a violator of his word, a libertine over head and ears in debt and disgrace, a despiser of domestic ties, the companion of gamblers and demireps, a man who has just closed half a century without one single claim on the gratitude of his country or the respect of posterity...
Page 333 - ... to some misshapen idol over the ruined dome of our proudest temple, and shall see a single naked fisherman wash his nets in the river of the ten thousand masts...
Page 343 - I THINK, whatever mortals crave, With impotent endeavour, — A wreath, a rank, a throne, a grave, — The world goes round for ever : I think that life is not too long ; And therefore I determine, That many people read a song Who will not read a sermon.
Page 158 - Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York ; And all the clouds, that lower'd upon our house, In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths ; Our bruised arms hung up for monuments ; Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Page 344 - I think while zealots fast and frown, And fight for two or seven, That there are fifty roads to town, And rather more to Heaven.
Page 162 - Our journal of this day presents to the public the practical result of the greatest improvement connected with printing, since the discovery of the art itself. The reader of this paragraph now holds in his hand one of the many thousand impressions of The Times Newspaper, which were taken off last night by a mechanical apparatus.

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