In the sixteenth century we Tuscans made the morning: we had the newest steel, the newest carving, the newest chemistry.
The bands conceived the idea of stirring her soldierly heart with a farewell which would remain in her memory always, beautiful and unfading, and bring back the past and its love for her whenever she should think of it; so they got their project placed before General Burnaby, my successor, who is Cathy’s newest slave, and in spite of poverty of precedents they got his permission.
“Yes, I reckon yours is the cleanest house, because it’s the newest, so you’ll just step out and let us knock in one o’ the gables, and clap it on to the saloon, and make ONE house of it, don’t you see?
You ask the portier at what hours the trains leave–he tells you instantly; or you ask him who is the best physician in town; or what is the hack tariff; or how many children the mayor has; or what days the galleries are open, and whether a permit is required, and where you are to get it, and what you must pay for it; or when the theaters open and close, what the plays are to be, and the price of seats; or what is the newest thing in hats; or how the bills of mortality average; or “who struck Billy Patterson.” It does not matter what you ask him: in nine cases out of ten he knows, and in the tenth case he will find out for you before you can turn around three times.
Gardiner’s business on her arrival was to distribute her presents and describe the newest fashions.
Even the newest of the docks, the Tilbury Dock, shares in the glamour conferred by historical associations.
If we unite both these kinds of history, as is done by the newest historians, we shall have the history of monarchs and writers, but not the history of the life of the peoples.
I have spoken before of Longfellow as one of my first passions, and I have never ceased to delight in him; but some of the very newest and youngest of our poets have given me thrills of happiness, for which life has become lastingly sweeter.
Darnell, his newest mother, lived in Cleveland, Ohio.
When Charles left Ducie Street he had caught the first train home, but had no inkling of the newest development until late at night.
The hotel of the provincial town where Nikolay Levin was lying ill was one of those provincial hotels which are constructed on the newest model of modern improvements, with the best intentions of cleanliness, comfort, and even elegance, but owing to the public that patronizes them, are with astounding rapidity transformed into filthy taverns with a pretension of modern improvement that only makes them worse than the old-fashioned, honestly filthy hotels.
This effect of the volume, for the eye, would have made it, as presumably the newest French novel–and evidently, from the attitude of the reader, “good”–consort happily with the special tone of the room, a consistent air of selection and suppression, one of the finer aesthetic evolutions.