Summary

Various,  Harper's New Monthly Magazine

“ John Burley begins to warm. A yet quicker light begins to break from his eye; his voice has a mellow, luscious roll in it.
"He will be grand to-night," whispered a thin man, who looked like a tailor, seated on the other side of Leonard.
Time flies—an hour! Look again at the Dutch clock. John Burley is grand, he is in his zenith, at his culminating point. What magnificent drollery!—what luxuriant humor! How the Rabelais shakes in his easy chair! Under the rush and the roar of this fun (what word else shall describe it) , the man's intellect is as clear as gold sand under a river.
”
Source: Gutenberg

Various,  Harper's New Monthly Magazine

“ Laughing at fame, he yet dwelt with an eloquent enthusiasm on the joy of composition. "What do I care what men without are to say and think of the words that gush forth on my page?" cried he. "If you think of the public, of urns, and laurels, while you write, you are no genius; you are not fit to be an author. I write because it rejoices me—because it is my nature. Written, I care no more what becomes of it than the lark for the effect that the song has on the peasant it wakes to the plough. The poet, like the lark, sings 'from his watch-tower in the skies.' Is this true?" ”
Source: Gutenberg

Various,  Harper's New Monthly Magazine

“ In the course of a few hours eight thousand shells from the effective batteries of Napoleon were thrown into Little Gibraltar, until the massive works were almost one pile of ruins. In the midst of the darkness, the storm, the drenching rain, the thunder of artillery, and the gleaming light of bomb-shells, the French marched up to the very muzzles of the English guns, and were mown down like grass before the scythe by the tremendous discharges of grape-shot and musketry. The ditches were filled with the dead and the dying. ”
Source: Gutenberg

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