Word: angelically
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...course which is so given up to independent research and individual work as English VIII, the criticism must be considered as slightly hypercritical. If Byron was a brute, we want to know it just as distinctly as to know whether Wordsworth was after all a wingless angel. Yet, it is true that the rehearsal of personal memories at times grows to be tiresome garrulity. If some golden mean could be found some way by which we could all study that portion of a writer's life and works which would exactly meet the wishes of all, the complaint would...
...relieve us of our holy burden and to carry consternation into the camp of the enemy. The voice from Maine is one of truth, and it explains no double-distilled fancy, no abstract principle of theoretical freedom, but simple unadorned and convincing facts. What of the fact that the angel of our Eden forbids those residing without prayer limits admission to our sanctuary, what of the fact that we are somewhat chilly at our devotions, even within our ulsters? Have we not the privilege of attending twenty-seven, or there-abouts, recitations in ethics, Sanscrit, and Bible interpretation...
...from a long silver trumpet, and the tintinnabulous sound of bells, the archangel, clad in white robes of dazzling brilliancy. From Thayer and Matthews and Hollis and Weld and Stoughton and Holworthy and Grays, rushed the frightened students. They stopped not to admire the classic features of the gleaming angel, but on they sped...
...sauntering into the library, took from the mathematical alcove an armful of books, and loaded down with treatises on calculus, determinants, quarternions, arbitrary functions and the theory of the potential, a very Archimedes, with formulas enough to reconstruct a universe,- stalked fearlessly in the wake of the white robed angel! He remembers no more; but this bare glimpse of the products of his busy brain will serve to show something of the possibilities that lurk within it. The very evening of the day on which this dream was told to me, I slept, and could conjure up no more stirring...
...Morgue is no longer a mere inanimate building. It becomes weirdly endowed with an awful personality. It is an explorer, it is an expounder, it is a preacher, it is a prophet, it is a stern moralist, it is a ghastly buffoon, it is a broken-hearted recording angel. Like some horrible ghoul, grinning and gibbering forever amid its dark mysteries, it stretches out awful hands to the wretched and the despairing throughout the vast, throbbing city, and whispers: "Come to me, come to me!" and they hear and shudder and turn cold at heart, and-come...