This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1898 Excerpt: ...exercised for good or ill. You 've your boot now on my hearth-rug, tread what was a tiger's skin: Rarely such a royal monster as I lodged ...Read MoreThis historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1898 Excerpt: ...exercised for good or ill. You 've your boot now on my hearth-rug, tread what was a tiger's skin: Rarely such a royal monster as I lodged the bullet in! True, he murdered half a village, so his own death came to pass; Still, for size and beauty, cunning, courage--ah, the brute he was! Why, that Clive, --that youth, that greenhorn, that quill-driving clerk, in fine, --He sustained a siege in Arcot.... But the world knows! Pass the wine. 40 Where did I break off at? How bring Clive in? Oh, you mentioned " fear "! Just so: and, said I, that minds me of a story you shall hear. We were friends then, Clive and I: so, when the clouds, about the orb Late supreme, encroaching slowly, surely, threatened to absorb Ray by ray its noontide brilliance, --friendship might, with steadier eye Drawing near, bear what had burned else, now no blaze--all majesty. Too much bee's-wing floats my figure? Well, suppose a castle's new: None presume to climb its ramparts, none find foothold sure for shoe 'Twixt those squares and squares of granite plating the impervious pile As his scale-mail's warty iron cuirasses a crocodile. 50 Reels that castle thunder-smitten, storm-dismantled? From without Scrambling up by crack and crevice, every cockney prates about Towers--the heap he kicks now! turrets--just the measure of his cane! Will that do? Observe moreover--(same similitude again)--Such a castle seldom crumbles by sheer stress of cannonade: 'T is when foes are foiled and fighting's finished that vile rains invade, Grass o'ergrows, o'ergrows till night-birds congregating find no holes Fit to build in like the topmost sockets made for bannerpoles. So Clive crumbled slow in London--crashed at last. A week before, Dining with him, --after trying churchyard-chat of days of yore, --60 ...Read Less
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