The works of Thomas Hood, ed., with notes, by his son [T. Hood] and daughter [F.F. Broderip].

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Página 307 - Those joyous hours are past away ; And many a heart, that then was gay, Within the tomb now darkly dwells, And hears no more those evening bells. And so 'twill be when I am gone ; That tuneful peal will still ring on, While...
Página 350 - Lamb himself, the most delightful, the most provoking, the most witty and sensible of men. He always made the best pun and the best remark in the course of the evening.
Página 356 - Literature, in a storm — flooding all the floor, the table and the chairs — billows of books tossing, tumbling, surging open, — on such occasions I have willingly listened by the hour, whilst the Philosopher, standing, with his eyes fixed on one side of the room, seemed to be less speaking than reading from 'a handwriting on the wall...
Página 361 - If he was intolerant of anything, it was of Intolerance. He would have been (if the foundation had existed, save in the fiction of Rabelais) of the Utopian order of Thelemites, where each man under scriptural warrant did what seemed good in his own eyes. He hated evil-speaking, carping, and petty scandal.
Página 361 - DEAR LAMB, — You are an impudent varlet, but I will keep your secret. We dine at Ayrton's on Thursday, and shall try to find Sarah and her two spare beds for that night only. Miss M. and her Tragedy may be dished, so may not you and your rib. Health attend you. Yours, Enfield. T. HOOD, ESQ. Miss Bridget Hood sends love.
Página 355 - When it was my frequent and agreeable duty to call on Mr. De Quincey (being an uncommon name to remember, the servant associated it, on the Memoria Technica principle with a sore throat and always pronounced it Quinsy), and I have found him at home, quite at home, in the midst of a German Ocean of Literature, in a storm, — flooding all the floor, the table and the chairs, — billows of books tossing, tumbling, surging open, — on such occasions I have willingly listened by the hour whilst the...
Página 309 - Meeting. Dost thou love silence deep as that "before the winds were made?" go not out into the wilderness; descend not into the profundities of the earth; shut not up thy casements; nor pour wax into the little cells of thy ears, with little-faith'd, self-mistrusting Ulysses. Retire with me into a Quakers
Página 343 - I was sitting one morning beside our Editor, busily correcting proofs, when a visitor was announced, whose name, grumbled by a low ventriloquial voice, like Tom Pipes calling from the hold through the hatchway, did not resound distinctly on my tympanum. However, the door opened, and in came a stranger, —a figure remarkable at a glance, with a fine head, on a small spare body, supported by two almost immaterial legs.

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