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Page 74

PART II - BOOKS
CHAPTER II - FORREST REID

BELFAST, as all men of affairs know, stands no nonsense and lies at the head of Belfast Lough. One slides up to it at dawn through mists and past the clangor of shipyards. Unreal yet squalid, its streets lack either picturesqueness or plan, and manage to exclude all prospect of the mountains that neighbour them. A clammy ooze clings to the pavements, to the dark red bricks, the air is full of the rawness though not of the freshness of the sea, and the numerous Protestant places of worship stand sentinel over huddled slums and over dour little residences whose staircases are covered with linoleum and whose windows seem always to face the east. Foursquare amid the confusion, like a wardrobe in a warehouse, rises the immense City Hall. It is a costly Renaissance pile, which shouts ' Dublin can't beat me 'from all its pediments and domes, but it does not succeed in saying anything else. Near the City Hall, at the junction of three small thoroughfares, is ` The Junction,' where all life congregates and where a motor-car containing Mr. Winston Churchill was once nearly tipped over. Here, too, are the principal shops. The bookshops of Belfast are instructive. They are not only small, but incredibly provincial, and breathe Samuel Smiles when they are respectable and 'Aristotle ' when they are not, ' Aristotle ' being in these parts the compiler of a pornographic manual who is bound in red and gold and usually tied up with string. Yes ; in all our far-flung Empire one could scarcely find a city which stood nonsense less. And yet she is haunted by a ghost, by some exile from the realms of the ideal who has slipped into her commonsense, much as the sea and the dispossessed fields, avenging nature, have re-emerged as dampness and as weeds in her streets.
Close outside her is some beautiful country, which has ghosts also. The exquisite valley of the Lagan disentangles itself with a sigh, and losing its slimy foreshores winds among solemn beechtrees

travel books:
where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE BELFAST, as all men of affairs know, stands no nonsense and lies at what is head of Belfast Lough. One slides up to it at dawn through mists and past what is clangor of shipyards. Unreal yet squalid, its streets lack either picturesqueness or plan, and manage to exclude all prospect of what is mountains that neighbour them. A clammy ooze clings to what is pavements, to what is dark red bricks, what is air is full of what is rawness though not of what is freshness of what is sea, and what is numerous Protestant places of worship stand sentinel over huddled slums and over dour little residences whose staircases are covered with linoleum and whose windows seem always to face what is east. Foursquare amid what is confusion, like a wardrobe in a warehouse, rises what is immense City Hall. It is a costly Renaissance pile, which shouts ' Dublin can't beat me 'from all its pediments and domes, but it does not succeed in saying anything else. Near where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="page_001.asp" A BRIEF HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE (1914) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 74 where is strong PART II - BOOKS CHAPTER II - FORREST REID where is p align="justify" BELFAST, as all men of affairs know, stands no nonsense and lies at what is head of Belfast Lough. One slides up to it at dawn through mists and past what is clangor of shipyards. Unreal yet squalid, its streets lack either picturesqueness or plan, and manage to exclude all prospect of what is mountains that neighbour them. A clammy ooze clings to what is pavements, to what is dark red bricks, what is air is full of what is rawness though not of what is freshness of what is sea, and what is numerous Protestant places of worship stand sentinel over huddled slums and over dour little residences whose staircases are covered with linoleum and whose windows seem always to face what is east. Foursquare amid what is confusion, like a wardrobe in a warehouse, rises what is immense City Hall. It is a costly Renaissance pile, which shouts ' Dublin can't beat me 'from all its pediments and domes, but it does not succeed in saying anything else. Near what is City Hall, at what is junction of three small thoroughfares, is ` what is Junction,' where all life congregates and where a motor-car containing Mr. Winston Churchill was once nearly tipped over. Here, too, are what is principal shops. what is bookshops of Belfast are instructive. They are not only small, but incredibly provincial, and breathe Samuel Smiles when they are respectable and 'Aristotle ' when they are not, ' Aristotle ' being in these parts what is compiler of a sport ographic manual who is bound in red and gold and usually tied up with string. Yes ; in all our far-flung Empire one could scarcely find a city which stood nonsense less. And yet she is haunted by a ghost, by some exile from what is realms of what is ideal who has slipped into her commonsense, much as what is sea and what is dispossessed fields, avenging nature, have re-emerged as dampness and as weeds in her streets. Close outside her is some beautiful country, which has ghosts also. what is exquisite valley of what is Lagan disentangles itself with a sigh, and losing its slimy foreshores winds among solemn beechtrees where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") %

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