Mary's Birthday (Classic Reprint)

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9781330968123: Mary's Birthday (Classic Reprint)

Excerpt from Mary's Birthday

Haw. Robbing a friend to save a scoundrel. Indorsing for the romantic and saintly Syrian convert, whose voice was as a trumpet of the Lord at Elder Evans's last night - at Elder Evans's last night; and, would you believe it -

Lord. I believe any thing of converts. So much for last night - proceed. And this morning? Gently; proceed; don't omit the catastrophe.

Haw. It strangles me; it is enormous; past conjecture.

Lord. Will your note fall due to-day?

Haw. To-day. The fellow had the smile of a seraph.

Lord. Then I think I can finish your story.

Haw. Impossible. It is infamous beyond conception, infamous beyond expression. This morning - excuse this indignation, pardon this emotion - this morning. Chokes again.)

Lord. (Aside.) He'll drop in a fit. This morning my old friend. Parson Hawthorne, couldn't find his Syrian convert, and Elder Evans couldn't find his wife.

Haw. Who has told you?

Lord. Ah, parson, the past is the prophet of the future. How deep is the rascal into you?

Haw. Rascal's too mild a word. Villain, sir, every inch a villain, and none the less a villain for having made a rogue of me. He had the voice of an angel, too.

Lord. I beg you, my dear Mr. Hawthorne -

Haw. Yes, sir, a rogue of me. I feel that whenever I put my name to paper, I put my hand into your pocket; but in spite of all, when the test comes, and the needy or stricken beg in the name of the Owner of all things, it seems to matter little from whose wallet the crust is drawn.

Lord. Provided the crust would choke your Syrian saint; but I fear that the largest amount of choking falls to you and Elder Evans. And this crust, Mr. Hawthorne, is it an extensive one, well burnt, done brown?

Haw. Five hundred - the villain! - voice of an angel - smile of a seraph!

Lord. Five hundred? that's small. Try a Turk next time. May be he'll let you off at half price, and do you the unspeakable favor of eloping with all the saints of your congregation. Don't droop, my old friend; this is fun for me, rare Roman fun, where beast springs, and sword gleams, and martyr bleeds - my only fun, and I am willing to pay for it. One gets so sick of shams and sweetmeats, of happiness and holiness. Have you never noticed how soon the palate, cloyed with sanctity and sugar, acquires a permanent relish for vinegar and woe? Frown not, my old friend. The world calls me a cynic; I must deserve the title.

Haw. The world does you great injustice, Mr. Lordly.

Lord. There's Adam, there; the gray old sexton would find nothing half so funny as seeing you and me toasted alive before his eyes. If agony were comic to him, may not a little moderate misfortune amuse me? The bosom snake that struck his brain, left her fang in my heart.

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This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.

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George Henry Miles
Published by Forgotten Books, United States (2015)
ISBN 10: 1330968123 ISBN 13: 9781330968123
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Book Description Forgotten Books, United States, 2015. Paperback. Book Condition: New. Language: English . Brand New Book ***** Print on Demand *****. Excerpt from Mary s Birthday Haw. Robbing a friend to save a scoundrel. Indorsing for the romantic and saintly Syrian convert, whose voice was as a trumpet of the Lord at Elder Evans s last night - at Elder Evans s last night; and, would you believe it - Lord. I believe any thing of converts. So much for last night - proceed. And this morning? Gently; proceed; don t omit the catastrophe. Haw. It strangles me; it is enormous; past conjecture. Lord. Will your note fall due to-day? Haw. To-day. The fellow had the smile of a seraph. Lord. Then I think I can finish your story. Haw. Impossible. It is infamous beyond conception, infamous beyond expression. This morning - excuse this indignation, pardon this emotion - this morning. Chokes again.) Lord. (Aside.) He ll drop in a fit. This morning my old friend. Parson Hawthorne, couldn t find his Syrian convert, and Elder Evans couldn t find his wife. Haw. Who has told you? Lord. Ah, parson, the past is the prophet of the future. How deep is the rascal into you? Haw. Rascal s too mild a word. Villain, sir, every inch a villain, and none the less a villain for having made a rogue of me. He had the voice of an angel, too. Lord. I beg you, my dear Mr. Hawthorne - Haw. Yes, sir, a rogue of me. I feel that whenever I put my name to paper, I put my hand into your pocket; but in spite of all, when the test comes, and the needy or stricken beg in the name of the Owner of all things, it seems to matter little from whose wallet the crust is drawn. Lord. Provided the crust would choke your Syrian saint; but I fear that the largest amount of choking falls to you and Elder Evans. And this crust, Mr. Hawthorne, is it an extensive one, well burnt, done brown? Haw. Five hundred - the villain! - voice of an angel - smile of a seraph! Lord. Five hundred? that s small. Try a Turk next time. May be he ll let you off at half price, and do you the unspeakable favor of eloping with all the saints of your congregation. Don t droop, my old friend; this is fun for me, rare Roman fun, where beast springs, and sword gleams, and martyr bleeds - my only fun, and I am willing to pay for it. One gets so sick of shams and sweetmeats, of happiness and holiness. Have you never noticed how soon the palate, cloyed with sanctity and sugar, acquires a permanent relish for vinegar and woe? Frown not, my old friend. The world calls me a cynic; I must deserve the title. Haw. The world does you great injustice, Mr. Lordly. Lord. There s Adam, there; the gray old sexton would find nothing half so funny as seeing you and me toasted alive before his eyes. If agony were comic to him, may not a little moderate misfortune amuse me? The bosom snake that struck his brain, left her fang in my heart. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works. Bookseller Inventory # APC9781330968123

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George Henry Miles
Published by Forgotten Books, United States (2015)
ISBN 10: 1330968123 ISBN 13: 9781330968123
New Paperback Quantity Available: 10
Print on Demand
Seller:
The Book Depository
(London, United Kingdom)
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Book Description Forgotten Books, United States, 2015. Paperback. Book Condition: New. Language: English . Brand New Book ***** Print on Demand *****.Excerpt from Mary s Birthday Haw. Robbing a friend to save a scoundrel. Indorsing for the romantic and saintly Syrian convert, whose voice was as a trumpet of the Lord at Elder Evans s last night - at Elder Evans s last night; and, would you believe it - Lord. I believe any thing of converts. So much for last night - proceed. And this morning? Gently; proceed; don t omit the catastrophe. Haw. It strangles me; it is enormous; past conjecture. Lord. Will your note fall due to-day? Haw. To-day. The fellow had the smile of a seraph. Lord. Then I think I can finish your story. Haw. Impossible. It is infamous beyond conception, infamous beyond expression. This morning - excuse this indignation, pardon this emotion - this morning. Chokes again.) Lord. (Aside.) He ll drop in a fit. This morning my old friend. Parson Hawthorne, couldn t find his Syrian convert, and Elder Evans couldn t find his wife. Haw. Who has told you? Lord. Ah, parson, the past is the prophet of the future. How deep is the rascal into you? Haw. Rascal s too mild a word. Villain, sir, every inch a villain, and none the less a villain for having made a rogue of me. He had the voice of an angel, too. Lord. I beg you, my dear Mr. Hawthorne - Haw. Yes, sir, a rogue of me. I feel that whenever I put my name to paper, I put my hand into your pocket; but in spite of all, when the test comes, and the needy or stricken beg in the name of the Owner of all things, it seems to matter little from whose wallet the crust is drawn. Lord. Provided the crust would choke your Syrian saint; but I fear that the largest amount of choking falls to you and Elder Evans. And this crust, Mr. Hawthorne, is it an extensive one, well burnt, done brown? Haw. Five hundred - the villain! - voice of an angel - smile of a seraph! Lord. Five hundred? that s small. Try a Turk next time. May be he ll let you off at half price, and do you the unspeakable favor of eloping with all the saints of your congregation. Don t droop, my old friend; this is fun for me, rare Roman fun, where beast springs, and sword gleams, and martyr bleeds - my only fun, and I am willing to pay for it. One gets so sick of shams and sweetmeats, of happiness and holiness. Have you never noticed how soon the palate, cloyed with sanctity and sugar, acquires a permanent relish for vinegar and woe? Frown not, my old friend. The world calls me a cynic; I must deserve the title. Haw. The world does you great injustice, Mr. Lordly. Lord. There s Adam, there; the gray old sexton would find nothing half so funny as seeing you and me toasted alive before his eyes. If agony were comic to him, may not a little moderate misfortune amuse me? The bosom snake that struck his brain, left her fang in my heart. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works. Bookseller Inventory # APC9781330968123

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George Henry Miles
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ISBN 10: 1330968123 ISBN 13: 9781330968123
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George Henry Miles
Published by Forgotten Books, United States (2015)
ISBN 10: 1330968123 ISBN 13: 9781330968123
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Book Description Forgotten Books, United States, 2015. Paperback. Book Condition: New. Language: English . This book usually ship within 10-15 business days and we will endeavor to dispatch orders quicker than this where possible. Brand New Book. Excerpt from Mary s Birthday Haw. Robbing a friend to save a scoundrel. Indorsing for the romantic and saintly Syrian convert, whose voice was as a trumpet of the Lord at Elder Evans s last night - at Elder Evans s last night; and, would you believe it - Lord. I believe any thing of converts. So much for last night - proceed. And this morning? Gently; proceed; don t omit the catastrophe. Haw. It strangles me; it is enormous; past conjecture. Lord. Will your note fall due to-day? Haw. To-day. The fellow had the smile of a seraph. Lord. Then I think I can finish your story. Haw. Impossible. It is infamous beyond conception, infamous beyond expression. This morning - excuse this indignation, pardon this emotion - this morning. Chokes again.) Lord. (Aside.) He ll drop in a fit. This morning my old friend. Parson Hawthorne, couldn t find his Syrian convert, and Elder Evans couldn t find his wife. Haw. Who has told you? Lord. Ah, parson, the past is the prophet of the future. How deep is the rascal into you? Haw. Rascal s too mild a word. Villain, sir, every inch a villain, and none the less a villain for having made a rogue of me. He had the voice of an angel, too. Lord. I beg you, my dear Mr. Hawthorne - Haw. Yes, sir, a rogue of me. I feel that whenever I put my name to paper, I put my hand into your pocket; but in spite of all, when the test comes, and the needy or stricken beg in the name of the Owner of all things, it seems to matter little from whose wallet the crust is drawn. Lord. Provided the crust would choke your Syrian saint; but I fear that the largest amount of choking falls to you and Elder Evans. And this crust, Mr. Hawthorne, is it an extensive one, well burnt, done brown? Haw. Five hundred - the villain! - voice of an angel - smile of a seraph! Lord. Five hundred? that s small. Try a Turk next time. May be he ll let you off at half price, and do you the unspeakable favor of eloping with all the saints of your congregation. Don t droop, my old friend; this is fun for me, rare Roman fun, where beast springs, and sword gleams, and martyr bleeds - my only fun, and I am willing to pay for it. One gets so sick of shams and sweetmeats, of happiness and holiness. Have you never noticed how soon the palate, cloyed with sanctity and sugar, acquires a permanent relish for vinegar and woe? Frown not, my old friend. The world calls me a cynic; I must deserve the title. Haw. The world does you great injustice, Mr. Lordly. Lord. There s Adam, there; the gray old sexton would find nothing half so funny as seeing you and me toasted alive before his eyes. If agony were comic to him, may not a little moderate misfortune amuse me? The bosom snake that struck his brain, left her fang in my heart. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works. Bookseller Inventory # LIE9781330968123

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