and aimless jabber went on and on, both parties enjoying the friendly duel and each well satisfied with his own share of the wit exchanged--for wit they considered it.
Eastward, was the gray majesty of the sea, hushed in breathless calm; the horizon line invisibly melting into the monotonous, misty sky; the idle
ships shadowy and still on the idle
On learning that Aladdin was idle
and would learn no trade, he offered to take a shop for him and stock it with merchandise.
I cannot help suspending my narration to reflect a little on the ridiculous speculations of those swelling philosophers, whose arrogance would prescribe laws to nature, and subject those astonishing effects, which we behold daily, to their idle
reasonings and chimerical rules.
Nor were their ornaments like those in use to-day, set off by Tyrian purple, and silk tortured in endless fashions, but the wreathed leaves of the green dock and ivy, wherewith they went as bravely and becomingly decked as our Court dames with all the rare and far-fetched artifices that idle
curiosity has taught them.
It is in vain to hope to guard against events too mighty for human foresight or precaution, and it would be idle
to object to a government because it could not perform impossibilities.
Now, little Eva," said they, "you will see that Fairies are not idle
, wilful Spirits, as mortals believe.
It would have been idle
for me to have attempted resuming the interview so peremptorily terminated by Marnoo, who was evidently little disposed to compromise his own safety by any rash endeavour to ensure mine.
Beware my Laura (she would often say) Beware of the insipid Vanities and idle
Dissipations of the Metropolis of England; Beware of the unmeaning Luxuries of Bath and of the stinking fish of Southampton.
Rushworth is the sort of amiable modest young man who wants a great deal of encouragement, and there were girls enough on the catch for him if we had been idle
The wonderful street was distinctly cold (it was an evening of carnival), I was very idle
, and I was feeling a little lonely.
Far in the forest, dim and old, For her may some tall vault unfold -- Some vault that oft hath flung its black And winged pannels fluttering back, Triumphant, o'er the crested palls, Of her grand family funerals -- Some sepulchre, remote, alone, Against whose portal she hath thrown, In childhood, many an idle
stone -- Some tomb fromout whose sounding door She ne'er shall force an echo more, Thrilling to think, poor child of sin