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

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Page 206 - The bleak wind of March Made her tremble and shiver; But not the dark arch, Or the black flowing river: Mad from life's history, Glad to death's mystery, Swift to be hurled — Anywhere, anywhere Out of the world!
Page 29 - Work — work — work ! In the dull December light, And work — work — work! When the weather is warm and bright — While underneath the eaves The brooding swallows cling, As if to show me their sunny backs And twit me with the Spring.
Page 205 - Who was her father? Who was her mother? Had she a sister? Had she a brother? Or was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one Yet, than all other?
Page 94 - Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster.
Page 100 - ... gush of stuffing issued forth, one murmur of delight arose all round the board, and even Tiny Tim, excited by the two young Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle of his knife, and feebly cried, Hurrah!
Page 204 - One more Unfortunate, Weary of breath, Rashly importunate Gone to her death! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care; Fashion'd so slenderly, Young and so fair! Look at her garments Clinging like cerements; Whilst the wave constantly Drips from her clothing: Take her up instantly, Loving, not loathing. Touch her not scornfully; Think of her mournfully. Gently and humanly; Not of the stains of her, All that remains of her Now is pure womanly.
Page 30 - Oh! but to breathe the breath Of the cowslip and primrose sweet. With the sky above my head, And the grass beneath my feet; For only one short hour To feel as I used to feel, Before I knew the woes of want, And the walk that costs a meal! " Oh, but for one short hour ! A respite, however brief! — No blessed leisure for love or hope, But only time for grief! A little weeping would ease my heart, But in their briny bed My tears must stop, for every drop Hinders needle and thread...
Page 100 - Martha dusted the hot plates; Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table; the two young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves, and mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into their mouths, lest they should shriek for goose before their turn came to be helped.
Page 207 - Out of the world ! In she plunged boldly, No matter how coldly The rough river ran, — Over the brink of it, Picture it — think of it, Dissolute Man ! Lave in it, drink of it Then, if you can...
Page 45 - O'er all there hung a shadow and a fear ; A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, The place is Haunted!

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