Nicholas Nickleby: By Charles Dickens : Illustrated

Happy Mrs. Nickleby! A project had but to be new, and it came home to her mind, brightly varnished and gilded as a glittering toy.

To die is our heavy portion, but, oh, let us die with life about us; when our cold hearts cease to beat, let warm hearts be beating near;

having bestowed her affections (or whatever it might be that, in the absence of anything better, represented them)

The father fell into his chair pale and trembling; Arthur Gride plucked and fumbled at his hat, and durst not raise his eyes from the floor; even Ralph crouched for the moment like a beaten hound, cowed by the presence of one young innocent girl!

Now my soul, my gentle, captivating, bewitching, and most demnebly enslaving chick-a-biddy, be calm,'

The shade of each departed day falls upon our graves, and the worm exults as he beholds it, to know that we are hastening thither. Daughters, is there no better way to pass the fleeting hours?"

the beautiful devotion of so young and weak a creature had shed a ray of its own on the inanimate things around, and made them beautiful as itself;

When I speak of home, I speak of the place where—in default of a better—those I love are gathered together;

I think of a great many things. Nobody can prevent that.' 'Oh yes, I understand you, Mr. Noggs,' said Mrs. Nickleby. 'Our thoughts are free, of course. Everybody's thoughts are their own, clearly.' 'They wouldn't be, if some people had their way,'