Specimens of the Short StoryGeorge Henry Nettleton H. Holt, 1901 - 229 páginas |
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Palavras e frases frequentes
answered appeared Bret Harte brother burlesque called Cambacères character Charles Charles Darnay Charles Lamb CHIG Christ's Hospital cried Dame Van Winkle dead dealer death Dickens Dickens's Doctor door Duchess Dupin English Ernest eyes father Fogarty followed Fort Christina French Gathergold hand Hawthorne Hawthorne's head heard heart Irish Irving Irving's knew Lamb Lamb's Lanty letter Lever literary lived London looked Manette's Markheim MICHI mind Minister Mother Shipton mountain Murders Napoleon never night novel Oakhurst Old Stony Phiz paper Paris passed personage Peter Stuyvesant Pickwick Papers Piney Place Vendôme poet Poker Flat poor Prefect prophecy Purloined Letter replied Rip Van Winkle romance RSITY seemed short story side SITY Sketch Book smiling Stevenson Stone Face strange Superannuated Thackeray Thackeray's thing thought tion truth turned UNIV UNIVE valley village voice Washington Irving words write wrote
Passagens conhecidas
Página 23 - Alas! gentlemen," cried Rip, somewhat dismayed, "I am a poor, quiet man, a native of the place and a loyal subject of the King, God bless him!" Here a general shout burst from the bystanders: "A Tory, a Tory! A spy! A refugee! Hustle him! Away with him!
Página 7 - WHOEVER has made a voyage up the Hudson must remember the Kaatskill mountains. They are a dismembered branch of the great Appalachian family, and are seen away to the west of the river, swelling up to a noble height, and lording it over the surrounding country. Every change of season, every change of weather, indeed, every hour of the day, produces some change in the magical hues and shapes of these mountains, and they are regarded by all the good wives, far and near, as perfect barometers.
Página 29 - ... the reality of it, and insisted that Rip had been out of his head, and that this was one point on which he always remained flighty. The old Dutch inhabitants, however, almost universally gave it full credit. Even to this day, they never hear a thunder-storm of a summer afternoon about the Kaatskill, but they say Hendrick Hudson and his crew are at their game of nine-pins : and it is a common wish of all henpecked husbands in the neighborhood, when life hangs heavy on their hands, that they might...
Página 27 - Half-moon; being permitted in this way to revisit the scenes of his enterprise, and keep a guardian eye upon the river, and the great city called by his name. That his father had once seen them in their old Dutch dresses playing at nine-pins in a hollow of the mountain; and that he himself had heard, one summer afternoon, the sound of their balls, like distant peals of thunder.
Página 68 - If his very initial sentence tend not to the outbringing of this effect, then he has failed in his first step. In the whole composition there should be no word written, of which the tendency, direct or indirect, is not to the one preestablished design.
Página 9 - The children of the village, too, would shout with joy whenever he approached. He assisted at their sports, made their playthings, taught them to fly kites and shoot marbles, and told them long stories of ghosts, witches, and Indians. Whenever he went dodging about the village, he was surrounded by a troop of them, hanging on his skirts, clambering on his back, and playing a thousand tricks on him with impunity; and not a dog would bark at him throughout the neighborhood. The great error in Rip's...
Página 19 - At length he reached to where the ravine had opened through the cliffs to the amphitheatre ; but no traces of such opening remained. The rocks presented a high impenetrable wall, over which the torrent came tumbling in a sheet of feathery foam, and fell into a broad, deep basin, black from the shadows of the surrounding forest. Here, then, poor Rip was brought to a stand. He again called and whistled after his dog; he was only answered by the cawing of a flock of idle crows sporting high in air about...
Página 21 - ... was silence. He now hurried forth, and hastened to his old resort, the village inn — but it, too, was gone. A large, rickety wooden building stood in its place, with great gaping windows, some of them broken and mended with old hats and petticoats, and over the door was painted " The Union Hotel, by Jonathan Doolittle.
Página 21 - Mountains, there ran the silver Hudson at a distance, there was every hill and dale precisely as it had always been. Rip was sorely perplexed: "That flagon last night," thought he, "has addled my poor head sadly!
Página 26 - The name of the child, the air of the mother, the tone of her voice, all awakened a train of recollections in his mind. "What is your name, my good woman?