Free eBooks by Seymour, Robert

SCENE I. "Walked twenty miles over night: up before peep o' day again got a capital place; fell fast asleep; tide rose up to my knees; my hat was changed, my pockets picked, and a fish ran away with my hook; dreamt of being on a Polar expedition and having my toes frozen."   O! IZAAK WALTON!—Izaak Walton!—you have truly got me into a precious line, and I certainly deserve ... more...

SCENE I. "Walked twenty miles over night: up before peep o' day again got a capital place; fell fast asleep; tide rose up to my knees; my hat was changed, my pockets picked, and a fish ran away with my hook; dreamt of being on a Polar expedition and having my toes frozen."   O! IZAAK WALTON!—Izaak Walton!—you have truly got me into a precious line, and I certainly deserve ... more...

"Shoot away, Bill! never mind the old woman—she can't get over the wall to us."   One day two urchins gotA pistol, powder, horn, and shot,And proudly forth they wentOn sport intent."Oh, Tom! if we should shoot a hare,"Cried one,The elder son,"How father, sure, would stare!""Look there! what's that?""Why, as I live, a cat,"Cried Bill, "'tis mother Tibbs' tabby;Oh! what a larkShe ... more...

On a grassy bank, beside a meandering stream, sat two gentlemen averaging forty years of age. The day was sultry, and, weary of casting their lines without effect, they had stuck their rods in the bank, and sought, in a well-filled basket of provisions and copious libations of bottled porter, to dissipate their disappointment. "Ain't this jolly? and don't you like a day's fishing, Sam?" "O! werry much, werry ... more...

WATTY WILLIAMS was a studious youth, with a long nose and a short pair of trowsers; his delight was in the green fields, for he was one of those philosophers who can find sermons in stones, and good in everything. One day, while wandering in a meadow, lost in the perusal of Zimmerman on Solitude, he was suddenly aroused from his reverie by a loud "Moo!" and, turning about, he descried, to his dismay, a ... more...

THERE is certainly no style of writing requiring so much modest assurance as autobiography; a position which, I am confident, neither Lord Cherbury, nor Vidocq, or any other mortal blessed with an equal developement of the organ of self-esteem, can or could deny. HOME, ("sweet home,")—in his Douglas—gives, perhaps, one of the most concise and concentrated specimens extant, of this species of ... more...