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.
Riley spoke of such acquaintances kindly as "people of the old school
I wish all the girls would leave, and spoil his old school
The Prince," she said, "is an intriguer of the old school
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
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.
The notable wife of Kamehameha, the renowned conqueror and king of the Sandwich Islands, used to pride herself in the skill she displayed in dyeing her tappa with contrasting colours disposed in regular figures; and, in the midst of the innovations of the times, was regarded, towards the decline of her life, as a lady of the old school
, clinging as she did to the national cloth, in preference to the frippery of the European calicoes.
In his way he was quite as much one of the old school
as the Earl of Eastchester, and the idea of a lady - a Wendermott, too - calling herself a journalist and proud of making a few hundreds a year was amazing enough to him.
Captain Joey, the bottle-nosed regular customer in the glazed hat, is a pupil of the much-respected old school
, and (having insinuated himself into the chamber, in the execution of the impontant service of carrying the drowned man's neck-kerchief) favours the doctor with a sagacious old-scholastic suggestion that the body should be hung up by the heels, 'sim'lar', says Captain Joey, 'to mutton in a butcher's shop,' and should then, as a particularly choice manoeuvre for promoting easy respiration, be rolled upon casks.
He was within walking distance of his old school
, and many a summer afternoon he spent reading in the garden with Cowden Clarke, the son of his old schoolmaster, in whom Keats had found a friend.
In truth I feared that it was changing, with his expression, even as I spoke, and in spite of his kindly tone and kindlier use of my old school