New elegant extracts; a selection from the most eminent prose and epistolary writers, by R.A. Davenport

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Seite 335 - It was, indeed, the wreck of her once noble lad; who, shattered by wounds, by sickness, and foreign imprisonment, had at length dragged his wasted limbs homeward, to repose among the scenes of his childhood.
Seite 334 - His parents received tidings of his seizure, but beyond that they could learn nothing. It was the loss of their main prop. The father, who was already infirm, grew heartless and melancholy, and sunk into his grave. The widow, left lonely in her age and feebleness, could no longer support herself, and came upon the parish. Still there was a kind feeling toward her throughout the village, and a certain respect as being one of the oldest inhabitants.
Seite 332 - The bustle around seemed to waken the mother from a wretched reverie. She raised her glazed eyes, and looked about with a faint wildness. As the men approached with cords to lower the coffin into the grave, she wrung her hands, and broke into an agony of grief. The poor woman who attended her, took her by the arm, endeavoured to raise her from the earth, and to whisper something like consolation — " Nay, now — nay, now — don't take it so sorely to heart.
Seite 336 - He was too weak, however, to talk — he could only look his thanks. His mother was his constant attendant ; and he seemed unwilling to be helped by any other hand.
Seite 330 - When I saw her feebly rising and bending her aged form in prayer; habitually conning her prayer-book, which her palsied hand and failing eyes would not permit her to read, but which she evidently knew by heart ; I felt...
Seite 333 - The parents of the deceased had resided in the village from childhood. They had inhabited one of the neatest cottages, and by various rural occupations and the assistance of a small garden, had supported themselves creditably and comfortably, and led a happy and a blameless life. They had one son, who had grown up to be the staff and pride of their age. "Oh, sir...
Seite 21 - ... them on, nor ever lost; And to the bridge they came. They followed from the 'snowy bank Those footmarks, one by one, Into the middle of the plank; And further there were none! — Yet some maintain that to this day She is a living child; That you may see sweet Lucy Gray Upon the lonesome wild. O'er rough and smooth she trips along, And never looks behind; And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind.
Seite 318 - The coffin, covered with a pall, and supported upon handspikes by the nearest relatives, now only waited the father to support the head, as is customary. Two or three of these privileged persons spoke to him, but he only answered by shaking his hand and his head in token of refusal. With better intention than judgment, the friends, who considered this as an act of duty on the part of the living, and...
Seite 333 - ... of joy — the sorrows of a widow, aged, solitary, destitute, mourning over an only son, the last solace of her years ; these are indeed sorrows which make us feel the impotency of consolation.
Seite 317 - The creak of the screw-nails presently announced that the lid of the last mansion of mortality was in the act of being secured above its tenant.

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