There were two Miss Woodmans, Miss Woodman proper, who was stern and ironical, and Miss Maria, with a cast in her eye, who was violent and ugly. When we said our irregular verbs to Miss Woodman, she would repeat "Yes! Fatiscor. Fatiscor, I am weary. I am weary of you boys." Meantime, from the room above, out of the floor of which a circular hole opened into the room below, would come the smack smack of Miss Maria boxing someone's ears. Miss Woodman would pause with a sigh and then resume operations. "Fatiscor, I am weary."
"A peculiar anthologic maze, an amusing literary chaos, a farrago of quotations, a mere olla podrida of quaintness, a pot pourri of pleasant delites, a florilegium of elegant extracts, a tangled fardel of old-world flowers of thought, a faggot of odd fancies, quips, facetiae, loosely tied" (Holbrook Jackson, Anatomy of Bibliomania) by a "laudator temporis acti," a "praiser of time past" (Horace, Ars Poetica 173).
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Friday, July 05, 2013
Fatiscor
G. Lowes Dickinson (1862-1932), quoted in E.M. Forster, Goldsworthy Lowes Dickinson and Related Writings (London: Edward Arnold, 1973), p. 10: