The Cornhill Magazine, Volume 124William Makepeace Thackeray Smith, Elder and Company, 1921 |
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asked Aunt Jane b'long beautiful began birds Brundish Burmese called catchee Chinamen Colin colour CORNHILL MAGAZINE cried Dalli dark Darya Diarmid dun cow emblem books emblems English eyes face father feel feet G. E. MITTON gharry girl Gloriana green hand Hawkins head heard heart hills honour John Hawkins Kate Evelyn Khalu King knew lady land light living London looked Lord Lord Camelford Lord Salisbury Mah Pah Oo Mahsuds Marjoram mind Miss Deane Molière Molineux morning Môttama never night nose once passed pidgin piecey Pincher play poor Poor Law Rachel Rosaleen round Samandar sea-trout seemed seen Seymour Shando sheep side smile sound stood story Street sure Tavistock Square tell thing Thorn Thornthwaite thought told took turned voice walked wife woman wonder word young
Popular passages
Page 120 - Indi la valle, come il di fu spento, Da Pratomagno al gran giogo coperse Di nebbia, e il ciel di sopra fece intento. SI, che il pregno aere in acqua si converse: La pioggia cadde, ed ai fossati venne Di lei ciò che la terra non sofferse. E come a' rivi grandi si convenne, Ver lo fiume real tanto veloce Si ruinò, che nulla la ritenne.
Page 205 - Let visions of the night or of the day Come, as they will ; and many a time they come, Until this earth he walks on seems not earth, This light that strikes his eyeball is not light, This air that smites his forehead is not air But vision — yea, his very hand and foot — In moments when he feels he cannot die, And knows himself no vision to himself, Nor the high God a vision, nor that One Who rose again : ye have seen what ye have seen.
Page 121 - ware of one, hoarse and tired out. Who ask'd of me : ' Hast thou not heard it said ? . . . Thy lady, she that was so fair, is dead.
Page 113 - That even the dying man forgets his shroud; — Even so that lofty sacrificial fire, Sending forth Maian incense, spread around Forgetfulness of everything but bliss, And clouded all the altar with soft smoke...
Page 585 - You are wrong — quite wrong — she has genius ; I am only a painstaking fellow. Can't you imagine a clever sort of angel who plots and plans, and tries to build up something — he wants to make you see it as he sees it — shows you one point of view, carries you off to another, hammering into your head the thing he wants you to understand ; and whilst this bother is going on God Almighty turns you off a little star — that 's the difference between us. The true creative power is hers, not mine.
Page 113 - None can usurp this height,' returned that shade, 'But those to whom the miseries of the world Are misery, and will not let them rest. All else who find a haven in the world, Where they may thoughtless sleep away their days, If by a chance into this fane they come, Rot on the pavement where thou rottedst half.
Page 208 - There were ninety and nine that safely lay In the shelter of the fold, But one was out on the hills away, Far off from the gates of gold— Away on the mountains wild and bare, Away from the tender Shepherd's care. "Lord, Thou hast here Thy ninety and nine; Are they not enough for Thee?' But the Shepherd made answer: 'This of mine Has wandered away from me; And although the road be rough and steep, I go to the desert to find my sheep.
Page 119 - Come son ite, e come se ne vanno Diretro ad esse Chiusi e Sinigaglia: Udir, come le schiatte si disfanno, Non ti parrà nuova cosa nè forte, Poscia che le cittadi termine hanno.
Page 120 - Then saw I many broken hinted sights In the uncertain state I stepp'd into. Meseem'd to be I know not in what place, Where ladies through the streets, like mournful lights, Ran with loose hair, and eyes that frighten'd you, By their own terror, and a pale amaze: The while, little by little, as I thought, The sun ceased, and the stars began to gather, And each wept at the other; And birds dropp'd in mid-flight out of the sky; And earth shook...
Page 581 - CLEON the poet, (from the sprinkled isles, Lily on lily, that o'erlace the sea, And laugh their pride when the light wave lisps "Greece")— To Protus in his Tyranny: much health! They give thy letter to me, even now: I read and seem as if I heard thee speak. The master of thy galley still unlades Gift after gift; they block my court at last And pile themselves along its portico Royal with sunset, like a thought of thee...