3. "Now," said Wardle, "what say you to an hour on the ice? We shall have plenty of time."
"You skate, of course, Winkle?" said Wardle.
"Ye--yes; oh, yes!" replied Mr. Winkle. "I--I am rather out of practice."
"Oh, do skate, Mr. Winkle!" said Arabella. "I like to see it so much!"
"Oh, it is so graceful!" said another young lady.
A third young lady said it was elegant; and a fourth expressed her opinion that it was "swan-like."
"I should be very happy, I'm sure," said Mr. Winkle, reddening; "but I have no skates."
This objection was at once overruled. Trundle had got a couple of pair, and the fat boy announced that there were half a dozen more down stairs; whereat Mr. Winkle expressed exquisite delight, and looked exquisitely uncomfortable.
See "Reading Club," No. 1, p. 56; No. 2, p. 49; No. 3, pp. 5, 38; No. 4, pp. 94, 67.
1. Tauler the preacher walked, one autumn-day, Without the walls of Strasburg, by the Rhine, Pondering the solemn miracle of life; As one who, wandering in a starless night, Feels momently the jar of unseen waves, And hears the thunder of an unknown sea Breaking along an unimagined shore.
2. The illustrious Spinola, upon hearing of the death of a friend, inquired of what disease he died. "Of having nothing to do," said the person who mentioned it. "Enough," said Spinola, "to kill a general." Not only the want of employment, but the want of care, often increases as well as brings on this disease.
3. Sir Isaac Newton was once examining a new and very fine globe, when a gentleman came into his study who did not believe in a God, but declared the world we live in came by chance. He was much pleased with the handsome globe, and asked, "Who made it?"--"Nobody," answered Sir Isaac: "it happened there." The gentleman looked up in amazement; but he soon understood what it meant.
See "Reading Club," No. 1, pp. 23, 73; No. 2, pp. 37, 44; No. 3, pp. 9, 99; No. 4, pp. 26, 49, 89.
1. The morn awakes, like brooding dove, With outstretched wings of gray: Thin, feathery clouds close in above, And build a sober day.
No motion in the deeps of air, No trembling in the leaves; A still contentment everywhere, That neither laughs nor grieves.
A shadowy veil of silvery sheen Bedims the ocean's hue, Save where the boat has torn between A track of shining blue.