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see. Oh, this is the boss dodge, ther' ain't no mi

Thu, 31 Dec 2009 23:07:25 +0000

by Lorenzo N devoutly to be wished. But soft you, the fair Ophelia: Ope not thy ponderous and marble jaws, But get thee to a nunnery--go! Well, the old man he liked that speech, and he mighty soon got it so he could do it first-rate. It seemed like he was just born for it; and when he had his hand in and was excited, it was perfectly lovely the way he would rip and tear and rair up behind when he was getting it off. The first chance we got the duke he had some showbills printed; and after that, for two or three days as we floated along, the raft was a most uncommon lively place, for there warn't nothing but sword fighting

Spirit of wine, two ounces, mixed by degrees: a few

Wed, 30 Dec 2009 02:36:34 +0000

by Lorenzo shank bone, and trim the knuckle, put it into lukewarm water for ten minutes, wash it clean, cover it with cold water, and let it simmer _very gently_, and skim it carefully. A leg of nine pounds will take two and a half or three hours, if you like it thoroughly done, especially in very cold weather. For the accompaniments, see the following receipt. N.B. The _tit-bits_ with an epicure are the "knuckle," the kernel, called the "_pope's eye_," and the "_gentleman's_" or "_cramp bone_," or, as it is called in Kent, the "CAW CAW," four of these and a bounder furnish the little masters and mistresses of Kent with their most favourite set of playthings. A leg of mutton stewed _very slowly_, as we have directed the beef to be (No. 493), will be as agreeable to an English appetite as the famous "_gigot[108-*] de sept heures_" of the French kitchen is to a Parisian palate. When mutton is very large, you may divide it, and _roast the fillet_, i. e. the large end, and _boil the knuckle end_; you may also cut some fine cutlets off the thick end of the leg, _and so have two or three good hot dinners_. See Mrs. MAKEITDO'S receipt how to make a leg of mutton last a week, in "_the housekeeper's leger_," printed for Whittaker, Ave-Maria Lane. _The liquor the mutton is boiled in_, you may convert into good soup in five minutes, (see N.B. to No. 218,) and Scotch barley broth (No. 204). Thus managed, a leg of mutton is a most economical joint. _Neck of Mutton._--(No. 2.) Put four or five pounds of the best end of a neck (that has been kept

King; The Orient flamed out in shawl a

Sun, 27 Dec 2009 14:56:01 +0000

by Lorenzo Y That war had made, Gilding old ruins with her jasmine spray, Distilling warm moist perfume From chill winter shade. Out of the south She brought the whisperings Of questing wings. Then, flame on flame, The cardinals came, Blowing like driven brands Up from the sultry lands Where Summer's happy fires always burn. Old silences, that pain Had held too close and long, Stirred to the mocker's song, And hope looked out again From tired eyes. Down where the White Point Gardens drank the sun, And rippled to the lift of springing grass, The women came; And after them the aged, and the lame That war had hurled back at them like a taunt. And always, as they talked of little things, How violets were purpling the shade More early than in all remembered Springs, And how the tides seemed higher than last year, Their gaze went drifting out across the bay To where, Thrusting out of the mists, Like hostile fists, Waited the close blockade-- Then, dim to left and right, The curving islands with their shattered mounds That had been forts; Mounds, which in spite Of four long years of rending agony Still held against the light; Faint wraiths of color For the breeze to lift And flatten into faded red and white. These sunny islands were not meant for wars; See, how they curve away Before the bay, Bidding the voyager pause. Warm with the hoarded suns of centuries, Young with the garnered youth of many Springs, They laugh like happy bathers, while the seas Break in their open arms, And the slow-moving breeze Draws languid fingers down their placid brows. Even the surly ocean knows their charms, And under the shrill laughter of the surf, He booms and sings his heavy monotone. II There are rare nights among these waterways When Spring first treads the meadows of the marsh, Leaving faint footprints of elusive green To glimmer as

ire. "_Seventh_, That we do

Thu, 24 Dec 2009 22:03:29 +0000

Photo uploaded on December 23, 2009

Tue, 22 Dec 2009 19:04:33 +0000

by Lorenzo

Photo uploaded on December 20, 2009

Sun, 20 Dec 2009 09:08:14 +0000

by Lorenzo

back ko yan

Thu, 17 Dec 2009 05:12:17 +0000

by jaison dairo

my pet

Thu, 17 Dec 2009 05:12:16 +0000

by jaison dairo alaga kong halaman

Photo uploaded on December 16, 2009

Wed, 16 Dec 2009 15:01:02 +0000

by Lorenzo

Photo uploaded on December 13, 2009

Sat, 12 Dec 2009 20:43:17 +0000

by Lorenzo