Passages from the diary of a late physician (by S. Warner). (Orig. publ. in Blackwood's magazine).

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Seite 370 - LORD, by thy favour thou hast made my mountain to stand strong: thou didst hide thy face, and I was troubled.
Seite 62 - Ecstasy! My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, And makes as healthful music. It is not madness That I have utter'd : bring me to the test, And I the matter will re-word, which madness Would gambol from.
Seite 65 - The breathless silence of the bystanders — for nearly all the company had thronged around — -was at length broken by her voice, stealing " like faint blue gushing streams " on the delighted ears of her auditors, as she commenced singing that exquisite little ballad, with the most touching pathos and simplicity. She had just commenced the verse, For his bride, a soldier sought her, And a winning tongue had he...
Seite 390 - It is better to go to the house of mourning, than to go to the house of feasting: for that is the end of all men; and the living will lay it to his heart.
Seite 288 - But the father said to his servants, Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet: and bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat and be merry: for this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.
Seite 116 - La, no, ma'am," replied the girl, " I took up the curling-irons only about a quarter of an hour ago, as she had put one of her curls out ; and she said she should soon be ready. She's burst her new muslin dress behind, and that has put her into a way, ma'am.
Seite 296 - Drown'd in his own stupendous uproar all The voices of the storm beside ; mean-while A war of mountains raged upon his surface; Mountains each other swallowing, and again New Alps and Andes, from...
Seite 199 - Here may I always on this downy grass, Unknown, unseen, my easy moments pass, Till, with a gentle force, victorious Death My solitude invade, And, stopping for a while my breath, With ease convey me to a better shade ! "•There's for you, my lady! Well sung, my Lord Roscommon! Beautiful as true!
Seite 69 - By what infernal subtilty hast thou contrived hitherto to baffle the profoundest skill of science, to frustrate utterly the uses of experience, and disclose thyself only when thou hast irretrievably secured thy victim, and thy fangs are crimsoned with its blood ? Destroying angel ! why art thou commissioned thus to smite down the firstborn of...
Seite 443 - He wandereth abroad for bread, saying, Where is it? he knoweth that the day of darkness is ready at his hand.

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