Lodore, by the author of 'Frankenstein'.

Front Cover
A. and W. Galignani, 1835 - 396 pages

From inside the book

What people are saying - Write a review

We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.

Selected pages

Contents

I
5
II
10
III
17
IV
24
V
33
VI
40
VII
45
VIII
52
XXIX
210
XXX
218
XXXI
228
XXXII
232
XXXIII
239
XXXIV
246
XXXV
252
XXXVI
256

IX
58
X
67
XI
73
XII
81
XIII
88
XIV
94
XV
105
XVI
111
XVII
121
XVIII
129
XIX
134
XX
139
XXI
148
XXII
154
XXIII
162
XXIV
171
XXV
177
XXVI
187
XXVII
195
XXVIII
205
XXXVII
263
XXXVIII
268
XXXIX
275
XL
279
XLI
286
XLII
292
XLIII
297
XLIV
303
XLV
310
XLVI
313
XLVII
319
XLVIII
328
XLIX
337
L
347
LI
359
LII
369
LIII
377
LIV
386
LV
394

Other editions - View all

Common terms and phrases

Popular passages

Page 256 - A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food, For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
Page 218 - Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date...
Page 369 - And, for my chance-acquaintance, ladies bright, Sons, mothers, maidens withering on the stalk. These all wear out of me, like forms, with chalk Painted on rich men's floors, for one feast-night.
Page 239 - How like a winter hath my absence been From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen! What old December's bareness everywhere! And yet this time removed was summer's time; The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, Bearing the wanton burden of the prime, Like widow'd wombs after their lords...
Page 337 - We rest — a dream has power to poison sleep ; We rise — one wandering thought pollutes the day; We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep ; Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away : It is the same ! — for, be it joy or sorrow, The path of its departure still is free ; Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow ; Nought may endure but Mutability.
Page 394 - ... deserved the reward which I have found, yet who but she, for whom you sacrificed so much, ought to be the first to thank you? And while we all try to show you an inexpressible gratitude, ought not I to be the first to see, first to kiss, first - always the first - to love you?
Page 21 - ... honoured herself as a consecrated thing reserved for one worship alone. She was taught that no misfortune should penetrate her soul, except such as visited her affections, or her sense of right; and that, set apart from the vulgar uses of the world, she was connected with the mass only through another - that other, now her father and only friend hereafter, whosoever her heart might select as her guide and head. Fitzhenry drew his chief ideas from Milton's Eve, and adding to this the romance of...
Page 211 - Ethel, infinitely surprised, examined her guest with more care. In a few minutes she began to wonder how she came to think him plain. His deep-set, darkgrey eyes struck her as expressive, if not handsome. His features were delicately moulded, and his fine forehead betokened depth of intellect; but the charm of his face was a kind of fitful, beamy, inconstant smile, which diffused incomparable sweetness over his physiognomy. His usual look was cold and abstracted - his eye speculated with an inward...
Page 301 - Villiers sat, reading. His first emotion was shame when he saw Ethel enter. There was no accord between her spotless loveliness and his squalid prison-room. Any one who has seen a sunbeam suddenly enter and light up a scene of housewifely neglect, and vulgar discomfort, and felt how obtrusive it rendered all that might be half-forgotten in the shade, can picture how the simple elegance of Ethel displayed yet more distinctly to her husband the worse than beggarly scene in which she found him. His...
Page 197 - Her inexperience, her youth, and the timidity of her disposition, prevented her from making any endeavour to break through the wall of unnatural separation raised between them. She could only lament. One sign, one word from Lady Lodore, would have been balm to her poor heart, and she would have met it with fervent gratitude. But she feared to offend. She had no hope that any advance would have been met by other than a disdainful repulse; and she shrunk from intruding herself on her unwilling parent....

Bibliographic information