Then don't object to me cracking up the
old School house, Rugby.
To the last Lavalle was a Catholic of the
old school, accepting--he who had looked into the very heart of the lightnings--the dogmas of papal infallibility, of absolution, of confession--of relics great and small.
The marshal of the province in whose hands the law had placed the control of so many important public functions--the guardianship of wards (the very department which was giving Levin so much trouble just now), the disposal of large sums subscribed by the nobility of the province, the high schools, female, male, and military, and popular instruction on the new model, and finally, the district council--the marshal of the province, Snetkov, was a nobleman of the
old school,--dissipating an immense fortune, a good-hearted man, honest after his own fashion, but utterly without any comprehension of the needs of modern days.
Riley spoke of such acquaintances kindly as "people of the
old school."
One afternoon Philip took it into his head to go over to Tercanbury and see his
old school. He had not been there since the day when, with relief in his heart, he had left it with the feeling that thenceforward he was his own master.
I wish all the girls would leave, and spoil his
old school. It's perfectly maddening to think of those lovely limes," sighed Amy, with the air of a martyr.
"The Prince," she said, "is an intriguer of the
old school. I know that in Vienna he has more than once made use of more violent means than he would dare to do here.
(Peter, aside, in a gratified pig's whisper: "I never was called 'Mr.' before.") Miss Felicity King's essays on Shakespeare is none the worse for being an
old school composition, as it is new to most of our readers.
Cobb, who, it is needless to say, was distinctly of the
old school in medicine.
"You'll be back again next winter, but I suppose I've left the dear
old school forever-- if I have good luck, that is."
But by degrees the suffering faded out of his memory and he looked upon his
old school with kindly eyes, and called it no longer Slaughterhouse, but Grey Friars, in his books.
On the ninth of January, now four days ago, I received by the evening delivery a registered envelope, addressed in the hand of my colleague and
old school companion, Henry Jekyll.