All the Year Round

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Chapman and Hall, 1893

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Page 54 - ... a custom loathsome to the eye, hateful to the nose, harmful to the brain, dangerous to the lungs, and in the black stinking fumes thereof nearest resembling the horrible Stygian smoke of the pit that is bottomless.
Page 305 - Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. In the golden lightning Of the sunken sun, O'er which clouds are brightning, Thou dost float and run; Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.
Page 85 - Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage; If I have freedom in my love And in my soul am free, Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty.
Page 6 - Southwark, where we beheld the dismal spectacle, the whole city in dreadful flames near the water side; all the houses from the bridge, all Thames Street, and upwards towards Cheapside, down to the Three Cranes, were now consumed : and so returned exceedingly astonished what would become of the rest.
Page 249 - BUILDING SOCIETY. HOW TO PURCHASE A PLOT OF LAND FOR FIVE SHILLINGS PER MONTH, With Immediate Possession, either for Building or Gardening Purposes. Apply at the Office of the BIRKBECK FREEHOLD LAND SOCIETY.
Page 264 - Falernian is only a little grape juice, and this purple robe some sheep's wool dyed with the blood of a shell-fish: such then are these impressions, and they reach the things themselves and penetrate them, and so we see what kind of things they are. Just in the same way ought we to act...
Page 305 - Teach us, sprite or bird, What sweet thoughts are thine : I have never heard Praise of love or wine That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.
Page 86 - Well, so I did ; but yet I did not think To show to all the world my pen and ink In such a mode ; I only thought to make I knew not what : nor did I undertake Thereby to please my neighbour : no, not I : I did it my own self to gratify.
Page 87 - That which the world miscalls a jail, A private closet is to me : Whilst a good conscience is my bail, And innocence my liberty : Locks, bars, and solitude, together met, Make me no prisoner, but an anchoret.

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