The Tin Trumpet: Or, Heads and Tails for the Wise and Waggish

Predný obal
D. Appleton, 1869 - 262 strán (strany)
 

Čo hovoria ostatní - Napísať recenziu

Na obvyklých miestach sme nenašli žiadne recenzie.

Iné vydania - Zobraziť všetky

Časté výrazy a frázy

Populárne pasáže

Strana 32 - I knew a very wise man so much of Sir Chr — 's sentiment, that he believed if a man were permitted to make all the ballads, he need not care who should make the laws of a nation.
Strana 247 - ... that comes from abroad, or is grown at home — taxes on the raw material — taxes on every fresh value that is added to...
Strana 79 - Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, And stars to set — but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death...
Strana 131 - The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together : our virtues would be proud if our faults whipped them not; and our crimes would despair if they were not cherished by our virtues.
Strana 131 - Thus may we gather honey from the weed, And make a moral of the devil himself.
Strana 102 - The world that I regard is myself ; it is the microcosm of my own frame that I cast mine eye on : for the other, I use it but like my globe, and turn it round sometimes for my recreation.
Strana 34 - Why no, Sir. Every body knows you are paid for affecting warmth for your client; and it is, therefore, properly no dissimulation: the moment you come from the bar you resume your usual behaviour. Sir, a man will no more carry the artifice of the bar into the common intercourse of society, than a man who is paid for tumbling upon his hands will continue to tumble upon his hands when he should walk on his feet.
Strana 247 - ... pampers man's appetite, and the drug that restores him to health; on the ermine which decorates the judge, and the rope which hangs the criminal; on the poor man's salt, and the rich man's spice; on the brass nails of the coffin and the ribands of the bride; at bed or board; couchant or levant we must pay.
Strana 160 - Come, thick night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, 50 Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, To cry 'Hold, hold!
Strana 259 - Why was not this ointment sold for three hundred pence, and given to the poor ? This he said, not that he cared for the poor ; but because he was a thief, aud had the bag, and bare what was put therein.

Bibliografické informácie