The professor at the breakfast table

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Houghton Mifflin., 1870 - 410 pages

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Page 139 - I pass, like night, from land to land; I have strange power of speech; That moment that his face I see, I know the man that must hear me: To him my tale I teach.
Page 37 - That boy with the grave mathematical look Made believe he had written a wonderful book, And the Royal Society thought it was true ! So they chose him right in, — a good joke it was too.
Page 32 - It grows out of life — out of its agonies and ecstasies, its wants and its weariness. Every language is a temple, in which the soul of those who speak it is enshrined.
Page 134 - Hook of Holland's " shelf of sand, And grated soon with lifting keel The sullen shores of Fatherland. No home for these ! — too well they knew The mitred king behind the throne ; — The sails were set, the pennons flew, And westward ho ! for worlds unknown.
Page 217 - O LOVE Divine, that stooped to share Our sharpest pang, our bitterest tear, On Thee we cast each earth-born care, We smile at pain while Thou art near! Though long the weary way we tread, And sorrow crown each lingering year, No path we shun, no darkness dread, Our hearts still whispering, Thou art near!
Page 38 - Then here's to our boyhood, its gold and its gray ! The stars of its Winter, the dews of its May ! And when we have done with our life-lasting toys, Dear Father, take care of thy children, the Boys ! \The Professor talks with the Reader.
Page 37 - — Yes! white if we please ; Where the snow-flakes fall thickest there 's nothing can freeze! Was it snowing I spoke of ? Excuse the mistake! Look close, — you will see not a sign of a flake ! We want some new garlands for those we have shed, — And these are white roses in place of the red. We 've a trick, we young fellows, you may have been told, Of talking (in public) as if we were old: — That boy we call " Doctor," and this we call "Judge ; " It's a neat little fiction, — of course it...
Page 37 - THE BOYS Has there any old fellow got mixed with the boys? If there has, take him out, without making a noise ! Hang the Almanac's cheat, and the Catalogue's spite I Old Time is a liar ! We're twenty to-night!
Page 175 - Well ! She longed, and knew not wherefore. Had the world nothing she might live to care for ? No second self to say her evening prayer for...
Page 55 - I take it, is the mob-law of the features, and propriety the magistrate who reads the riot-act. She carried the brimming cup of her inestimable virtues with a cautious, steady hand, and an eye always on them, to see that they did not spill. Then she was an admirable judge of character. Her mind was a perfect laboratory of tests and re-agents ; every syllable you put into breath went into her intellectual eudiometer, and all your thoughts were recorded on litmus-paper. I think there has rarely been...

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