Stories for single gentlemen

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Стр. 40 - Through sunny May, through sultry June, I loved her with a love eternal ; I spoke her praises to the moon, I wrote them to the Sunday Journal...
Стр. 58 - Tis a murderous knife to toast muffins upon. Long, long, through the hours, and the night and the chimes, Here we talk of old books, and old friends, and old times ; As we sit in a fog made of rich Latakie, This chamber is pleasant to you, friend, and me.
Стр. 40 - She smiled on many just for fun ; I knew that there was nothing in it ; I was the first — the only — one Her heart had thought of for a minute : I knew it, for she told me so In phrase which was divinely moulded.
Стр. 40 - She sketched ; the vale, the wood, the beach, Grew lovelier from her pencil's shading : She botanized; I envied each Young blossom in her boudoir fading : She warbled Handel ; it was grand ; She made the Catalani jealous : She touched the organ; I could stand For hours and hours to blow the bellows.
Стр. 154 - What d'ye think of that, my cat? What d'ye think of that, my dog ? My Susan's taste was superfine.
Стр. 154 - At times we had a spar, and then Mamma must mingle in the song — The sister took a sister's part — The maid declared her master wrong — The parrot learned to call me
Стр. 198 - I believe, Sir, you have a great many. Norway, too, has noble wild prospects ; and Lapland is remarkable for prodigious noble wild prospects. But, Sir, let me tell you, the noblest prospect which a Scotchman ever sees, is the high road that leads him to England !" (') This unexpected and pointed sally produced a roar of applause.
Стр. 40 - Our love was like most other loves ; — A little glow, a little shiver, A rose-bud, and a pair of gloves, And " Fly not yet " — upon the river ; Some jealousy of some one's heir, Some hopes of dying broken-hearted, A miniature, a lock of hair, The usual vows, — and then we parted. We parted ; months and years...
Стр. 153 - Flat flattery was my only chance, I acted deep devotion, Found magic in her every glance, Grace in her every motion ; I wasted all a stripling's lore, Prayer, passion, folly, feeling, And wildly looked upon the floor. And wildly on the ceiling ; I envied gloves upon her arm, And shawls upon her shoulder ; And when my worship was most warm, She "never found it colder.
Стр. 40 - And then she danced, — oh, heaven, her dancing! Dark was her hair, her hand was white; Her voice was exquisitely tender; Her eyes were full of liquid light; I never saw a waist so slender; Her every look, her every smile, Shot right and left a score of arrows; I thought...

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