Every-day Characters

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Paul, 1896 - 72 pages

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Page 11 - He did not think all mischief fair, Although he had a knack of joking ; He did not make himself a bear, Although he had a taste for smoking ; And when religious sects ran mad, He held, in spite of all his learning, That if a man's belief is bad, It will not be improved by burning.
Page 7 - Vicar. His talk was like a stream, which runs With rapid change from rocks to roses: It slipped from politics to puns, It passed from Mahomet to Moses; Beginning with the laws which keep The planets in their radiant courses, And ending with some precept deep For dressing eels, or shoeing horses.
Page 12 - And he was kind, and loved to sit In the low hut or garnished cottage, And praise the farmer's homely wit, And share the widow's homelier pottage: At his approach complaint grew mild; And when his hand unbarred the shutter, The clammy lips of fever smiled The welcome which they could not utter.
Page 6 - And warmed himself in Court or College, He had not gained an honest friend And twenty curious scraps of knowledge; If he departed as he came, With no new light on love or liquor — Good sooth, the traveller was to blame, And not the Vicarage, nor the Vicar.
Page 14 - Alack the change! in vain I look For haunts in which my boyhood trifled, — The level lawn, the trickling brook, The trees I climbed, the beds I rifled; The church is larger than before; You reach it by a carriage entry; It holds three hundred people more, And pews are fitted up for gentry.
Page 8 - It passed from Mahomet to Moses; Beginning with the laws which keep The planets in their radiant courses, And ending with some precept deep For dressing eels or shoeing horses. He was a shrewd and sound divine, Of loud Dissent the mortal terror; And when, by dint of page and line, He...
Page 39 - Little 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...
Page 3 - THE VICAR. Some years ago, ere time and taste Had turned our parish topsy-turvy, When Darnel Park was Darnel Waste, And roads as little known as scurvy, The man who lost his way, between St. Mary's Hill and Sandy Thicket, Was always shown across the green, And guided to the Parson's wicket. Back flew the bolt of lissom lath ; Fair Margaret, in her tidy kirtle, Led the lorn traveller up the path...
Page 4 - Had turned our parish topsy-turvy, When Darnel Park was Darnel Waste, And roads as little known as scurvy, The man who lost his way, between St. Mary's Hill and Sandy Thicket, Was always shown across the green, And guided to the Parson's wicket. Back flew the bolt of lissom lath ; Fair Margaret, in her tidy kirtle, Led the lorn traveller up the path, Through...

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