Little Classics: Exile

Framsida
Rossiter Johnson
J.R. Osgood, 1879
 

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Sida 98 - there was any way to make him turn over two pages; but he had not quite presence of mind for that; he gagged a little, colored crimson, and staggered on, — " For him no minstrel raptures swell; High though his titles, proud his name, Bouudless his wealth as wish can claim, Despite
Sida 98 - Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned From wandering on a foreign strand? — If such there breathe, go, mark him well." By this time the men were all beside themselves,
Sida 85 - on one of the largest, pine-trees, they found the deuce of clubs pinned to the bark with a bowie-knife. It bore the following, written in pencil, in a firm hand: — BENEATH THIS TREE LIES THE BODY OF JOHN OAKHURST, WHO STRUCK A STREAK OF BAD LUCK ON THE 23D OF NOVEMBER, 1850,
Sida 71 - BRET HARTE. |S Mr. John Oakhurst, gambler, stepped into the main street of Poker Flat, on the morning of the 23d of November, 1850, he was conscious of a change in its moral atmosphere since the preceding night. Two or three men, conversing earnestly together, ceased as he approached, and exchanged
Sida 80 - m proud to live in the service of the Lord, And I 'm bound to die in his army." The pines rocked, the storm eddied and whirled above the miserable group, and the flames of their altar leaped heavenward, as if in token of
Sida 29 - At any rate, it is burnt into what looks like special good lime ; and, taking all the bones together, my kiln is half a bushel the richer for him." So saying, the rude lime-burner lifted his pole, and, letting it fall upon the skeleton, the relics of Ethan Brand were crumbled into fragments. THE
Sida 108 - and addressing him in every dialect and patois of a dialect, from the Zulu click up to the Parisian of Beledeljcreed. As we came on deck, Vaughan looked down from a hogshead, on which he had mounted in desperation, and said, — "For God's love, is there anybody who can make
Sida 27 - on high. The blue flames played upon his face, and imparted the wild and ghastly light which alone could have suited its expression; it was that of a fiend on the verge of plunging into his gulf of intensest torment. " O Mother Earth," cried he, " who art no more my Mother, and into whose bosom this frame shall never
Sida 7 - ARTRAM the lime-burner, a rough, heavy-looking man, begrimed with charcoal, sat watching his kiln, at nightfall, while his little son played at building houses with the scattered fragments of marble, when, on the hillside below them, they heard a roar of laughter, not mirthful, but slow, and even solemn, like a wind shaking the boughs of the forest.
Sida 23 - reverberated around the horizon, and that mountain would thunder it to mountain, and so the horror be prolonged upon their ears. Then, whispering one to another that it was late, ^- that the moon was almost down, — that the August night was growing chill, — they hurried homewards, leaving the lime-burner and little Joe to deal as they might with their

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