Genre - Fiction. You are on the page - 353
an with the accuracy of a sculptor's eye. There is onepoint, however, or, rather, two points, in respect to which our friendDonatello's abundant curls will not permit us to say whether the likenessis carried into minute detail.And the sculptor directed the attention of the party to the ears of thebeautiful statue which they were contemplating. But we must do more than merely refer to this exquisite work of art; itmust be described, however inadequate may be the effort to express itsmagic
o dispose of the miserable horse that hasbrought me hither, and am preparing to continue the journey on foot.Although he seemed to recite this story tranquilly enough, Iobserved the tears start to his eyes as he concluded. Thisadventure struck me as being not less singular than it wasaffecting. I do not press you, said I to him, to make me theconfidant of your secrets; but if I can be of use to you in anyway, I gladly tender you my services. Alas! replied he,I see not the slightest ray of hope.
een taught to write, by the young man without arms, who got his living with his toes (quite a writing master HE was, and taught scores in the line), but Chops would have starved to death, afore he'd have gained a bit of bread by putting his hand to a paper. This is the more curious to bear in mind, because HE had no property, nor hope of property, except his house and a sarser. When I say his house, I mean the box, painted and got up outside like a reg'lar six-roomer, that he used to creep
Mermaid, the professor, theboys, Washington and Andy, sailed until they came to the greatshaft leading downward. Then the ship rose in the air anddescended through clouds of vapor. After many perils theyreached the center of the earth, where they found a strange raceof beings.One day, to their horror, an earthquake dosed the shaft by whichthey had come to the center of the earth. The boys were indespair of ever getting to the surface again, but the professorhad been prepared for this emergency,
ll you?Mr. Sloane found compliance impossible. He could not steady his hand sufficiently. Hold that torch, judge, Hastings prompted. It's knocked me out--completely, Sloane said, surrendering the torch to Wilton. Webster, the pallor still on his face, a look of horror in his eyes, stood on the side of the body opposite the detective. At brief intervals he raised first one foot, then the other, clear of the ground and set it down again. He was unconscious of making any movement at all. Hastings,
ead with an air of importance.Take your word for it, answered Hood without emotion, save for a slight annoyance at the other's arrogation of superior information. 'Tain't the first time there's been an earthquake since creation. And he strolled out, swinging to the doors behind him. The night shift settled himself before the instruments with a look of dreary resignation. Say, he muttered aloud, you couldn't jar that feller with a thirteen-inch bomb! He wouldn't even rub himself! Hood, meantime,