stuffnads, local and safe classifieds market in the USA.

Jeff Dunham Best Concert Tickets at Rupp Arena in Lexington in Lexington, Kentucky For Sale

Seller:
Type: Tickets & Traveling, For Sale - Private.

Jeff Dunham Tickets
Longosardo, where Corsican bandits fled for refuge when too hard pressed. They formed almost the entire population of this hamlet, facing the shores of their own country, and there they awaited a suitable moment to come home, to return to the maquis of Corsica. She knew that Nicolas Ravolati had taken refuge in this very village.All alone, all day long, sitting by the window, she looked over there and pondered revenge. How could she do it without another's help, so feeble as she was, so near to death? But she had promised, she had sworn upon the body. She could not forget, she could not wait. What was she to do? She could no longer sleep at night, she had no more sleep nor peace; obstinately she searched for a way. The dog slumbered at her feet and sometimes, raising her head, howled into the empty spaces. Since her master had gone, she often howled thus, as though she were calling him, as though her animal soul, inconsolable, had retained an ineffaceable memory of him.One night, as Semillante was beginning to moan again, the mother had a sudden idea, an idea quite natural to a vindictive and ferocious savage. She meditated on it till morning, then, rising at the approach of day, she went to church. She prayed, kneeling on the stones, prostrate before God, begging Him to aid her, to sustain her, to grant her poor worn-out body the strength necessary to avenge her son.Then she returned home. There stood in the yard an old barrel with its sides stove in, which held the rain-water; she overturned it, emptied it, and fixed it to the ground with stakes and stones; then she chained up Semillante in this kennel, and went into the house.Next she began to walk up and down her room, taking no rest, her eyes still turned to the coast of Sardinia. He was there, the murderer.All day long and all night long the dog howled. In the morning the old woman took her some water in a bowl, but nothing else; no soup, no bread.Another day went by. Semillante, exhausted, was asleep. Next day her eyes were shining, her hair on end, and she tugged desperately at the chain.Again the old woman gave her nothing to eat. The animal, mad with hunger, barked hoarsely. Another night went by.When day broke, Mother Saverini went to her neighbour to ask him to give her two trusses of straw. She took the old clothes her husband had worn and stuffed them with the straw into the likeness of a human figure.Having planted a post in the ground opposite Semillante's kennel, she tied the dummy figure to it, which looked now as though it were standing. Then she fashioned a head with a roll of old linen.The dog, surprised, looked at this straw man, and was silent, although devoured with hunger.Then the woman went to the pork-butcher and bought a long piece of black pudding. She returned home, lit a wood fire in her yard, close to the kennel, and grilled the black pudding. Semillante, maddened, leapt about and foamed at the mouth, her eyes fixed on the food, the flavour of which penetrated to her very stomach.Then with the smoking sausage the mother made a collar for the straw man. She spent a long time lashing it round his neck, as though to stuff it right in. When it was done, she unchained the dog.With a tremendous bound the animal leapt upon the dummy's throat and with her paws on his shoulders began to rend it. She fell back with a piece of the prey in her mouth, then dashed at it again, sank her teeth into the cords, tore away a few fragments of food, fell back again, and leapt once more, ravenous.With great bites she rent away the face, and tore the whole neck to shreds.The old woman watched, motionless and silent, a gleam in her eyes. Then she chained up her dog again, made her go without food for two more days, and repeated the strange performance.For three months she trained the dog to this struggle, the conquest of a meal by fangs. She no longer chained her up, but launched her upon the dummy with a sign.She had taught the dog to rend and devour it without hiding food in its throat. Afterwards she would reward the dog with the gift of the black pudding she had cooked for her.As soon as she saw the man, Semillante would tremble, then turn her eyes towards her mistress, who would cry "Off!" in a whistling tone, raising her finger.When she judged that the time was come, Mother Saverini went to confession and took communion one Sunday morning with an ecstatic fervour; then, putting on a man's clothes, like an old ragged beggar, she bargained with a Sardinian fisherman, who took her, accompanied by the dog, to the other side of the straits.In a canvas bag she had a large piece of black pudding. Semillante had had nothing to eat for two days. Every minute the old woman made her smell the savoury food, stimulating her hunger with it.They came to Longosardo. The Corsican woman was limping slightly. She went to the baker's and inquired for Nicolas Ravolati's house. He had resumed his old occupation, that of a joiner. He was working alone at the back of his shop.The old woman pushed open the door and called him:"Hey! Nicolas!"He turned round; then, letting go of her dog, she cried:"Off, off, bite him, bite him!"The maddened beast dashed forward and seized his throat.The man put out his arms, clasped the dog, and rolled upon the ground. For a few minutes he writhed, beating the ground with his feet; then he remained motionless while Semillante nuzzled at his throat and tore it out in ribbons.Two neighbours, sitting at their doors, plainly recollected having seen a poor old man come out with a lean black dog which ate, as it walked, something brown that its master was giving to it.In the evening the old woman returned home. That night she slept well.THE BEGINNING OF THUNDER [Miwok indians of Tuolumne county] Bear's sister-in-law, Deer, had two beautiful daughters, called Fawns. Bear was a horrible, wicked woman, and she wanted the Fawns for herself. So this is what she did. One day she invited Deer to accompany her when she went to pick clover. The two Fawns remained at home. While resting during the day, after having picked much clover, Bear offered to pick out lice from Deer's head. While doing so she watched her chance, took Deer unaware, and bit her neck so hard that she killed her. Then she devoured her, all excepting the liver. This she placed in the bottom of a basket filled with clover, and took it home. She gave the basket of clover to the Fawns to eat. When they asked where their mother was, she replied, "She will come soon. You know she is always slow and takes her time in coming home." So the Fawns ate the clover, but when they reached the bottom of the basket, they discovered the liver. Then they knew that their aunt had killed their mother. "We had better watch out, or she will kill us too," they said to one another. They decided to leave without saying anything and go to their grandfather. So the next day when Bear was away they got together all the baskets and awls which belonged to Deer and departed. They left one basket, however, in the house. When Bear returned and found the Fawns missing she hunted for their tracks and set out after them. After she had tracked them a short distance, the basket, left at home, whistled. Bear ran back to the house, thinking the Fawns had returned. But she could not find them and so set out again, following their tracks. The Fawns, meanwhile, had proceeded on their journey, throwing awls and baskets in different directions. These awls and baskets whistled. Each time Bear thought that the Fawns were whistling, and left the trail in search of them. And each time that Bear was fooled in this manner, she became angrier and angrier. She shouted in her anger. "Those girls are making a fool of me. When I capture them I'll eat them." The awls only whistled in response and Bear ran toward the sound. There was no one there. Finally, the Fawns, far ahead of Bear, came to the river. On the opposite side they saw Daddy Longlegs. They asked him to stretch his leg across the river so that they might cross safely. They told him that Bear had killed their mother and they were fleeing from her. So when Bear at last came to the river, Daddy Longlegs stretched his leg over again, but when the wicked aunt of the two Fawns, walking on his leg, reached the middle of the river, Daddy Longlegs gave a sudden jump and threw her into the river. But Bear did not drown. She managed to swim to the shore, where she again started in pursuit of the Fawns. But the Fawns were far ahead of their aunt, and soon reached their grandfather's house. Their grandfather was Lizard. They told him of the terrible fate which had overtaken their mother. "Where is Bear?" he asked them. "She is following us and will soon be here," they replied. Upon hearing this Lizard threw two large white stones into the fire and heated them. When Bear arrived outside of Lizard's house she could not find an entrance. She asked Lizard how she should enter, and he told her that the only entrance was through the smokehole, so she must climb on the roof and enter that way. He also told her that when she entered she must close her eyes tightly and open wide her mouth. Bear did as she was instructed, for she was very anxious to get the two Fawns, whom Lizard had told her were in his house. But as Bear entered, eyes closed and mouth open, Lizard took the red hot stones from the fire and thrust them down her throat. Bear rolled from the top of Lizard's house dead. Lizard then skinned her and dressed her hide, after which he cut it in two pieces, one large and one small. The larger piece he gave to the older Fawn, the smaller piece to the younger. Then Lizard instructed the girls to run about and see what kind of noise was made by Bear's skin. The girls proceeded to run around, the skins making all kinds of loud noises. Lizard, watching them, laughed and said to himself, "The girls are all right. They are Thunders. I think I had better send them up to the sky." When the Fawns came to Lizard to tell him that they were going to return home, he said, "Do not go home. I have a good place for you. I shall send you to the sky." So the girls went up to the sky. There Lizard could hear them running about. Their aunt's skin, which they had kept, makes the loud noises, that we call thunder. When the Fawn girls ran around in the sky Rain and Hail fell. So now whenever the girls (Thunders, as Lizard called them) run around above, rain begins to fall.They were new patients to me, all I had was the name, Olson. Please come down as soon as you can, my daughter is very sick.When I arrived I was met by the mother, a big startled looking woman, very clean and apologetic who merely said, Is this the doctor? and let me in. In the back, she added. You must excuse us, doctor, we have her in the kitchen where it is warm. It is very damp here sometimes.The child was fully dressed and sitting on her father's lap near the kitchen table. He tried to get up, but I motioned for him not to bother, took off my overcoat and started to look things over. I could see that they were all very nervous, eyeing me up and down distrustfully. As often, in such cases, they weren't telling me more than they had to, it was up to me to tell them; that's why they were spending three dollars on me.The child was fairly eating me up with her cold, steady eyes, and no expression to her face whatever. She did not move and seemed, inwardly, quiet; an unusually attractive little thing, and as strong as a heifer in appearance. But her face was flushed, she was breathing rapidly, and I realized that she had a high fever. She had magnificent blonde hair, in profusion. One of those picture children often reproduced in advertising leaflets and the photogravure sections of the Sunday papers.She's had a fever for three days, began the father and we don't know what it comes from. My wife has given her things, you know, like people do, but it don't do no good. And there's been a lot of sickness around. So we tho't you'd better look her over and tell us what is the matter.As doctors often do I took a trial shot at it as a point of departure. Has she had a sore throat?Both parents answered me together, No . . . No, she says her throat don't hurt her.Does your throat hurt you? added the mother to the child. But the little girl's expression didn't change nor did she move her eyes from my face.I tried to, said the mother, but I couldn't see.As it happens we had been having a number of cases of diphtheria in the school to which this child went during that month and we were all, quite apparently, thinking of that, though no one had as yet spoken of the thingWell, I said, suppose we take a look at the throat first. I smiled in my best professional manner and asking for the child's first name I said, come on, Mathilda, open your mouth and let's take a look at your throat.Nothing doing.Aw, come on, I coaxed, just open your mouth wide and let me take a look. Look, I said opening both hands wide, I haven't anything in my hands. Just open up and let me see.Such a nice man, put in the mother. Look how kind he is to you. Come on, do what he tells you to. He won't hurt you.At that I ground my teeth in disgust. If only they wouldn't use the word "hurt" I might be able to get somewhere. But I did not allow myself to be hurried or disturbed but speaking quietly and slowly I approached the child again.As I moved my chair a little nearer suddenly with one catlike movement both her hands clawed instinctively for my eyes and she almost reached them too. In fact she knocked my glasses flying and they fell, though unbroken, several feet away from me on the kitchen floor.Both the mother and father almost turned themselves inside out in embarrassment and apology. You bad girl, said the mother, taking her and shaking her by one arm. Look what you've done. The nice man . . .For heaven's sake, I broke in. Don't call me a nice man to her. I'm here to look at her throat on the chance that she might have diphtheria and possibly die of it. But that's nothing to her. Look here, I said to the child, we're going to look at your throat. You're old enough to understand what I'm saying. Will you open it now by yourself or shall we have to open it for you)Not a move. Even her expression hadn't changed. Her breaths however were coming faster and faster. Then the battle began. I had to do it. I had to have a throat culture for her own protection. But first I told the parents that it was entirely up to them. I explained the danger but said that I would not insist on a throat examination so long as they would take the responsibility.If you don't do what the doctor says you'll have to go to the hospital, the mother admonished her severely.Oh yeah? I had to smile to myself. After all, I had already fallen in love with the savage brat, the parents were contemptible to me. In the ensuing struggle they grew more and more abject, crushed, exhausted while she surely rose to magnificent heights of insane fury of effort bred of her terror of me.The father tried his best, and he was a big man but the fact that she was his daughter, his shame at her behavior and his dread of hurting her made him release her just at the critical times when I had almost achieved success, till I wanted to kill him. But his dread also that she might have diphtheria made him tell me to go on, go on though he himself was almost fainting, while the mother moved back and forth behind us raising and lowering her hands in an agony of apprehension.Put her in front of you on your lap, I ordered, and hold both her wrists.But as soon as he did the child let out a scream. Don't, you're hurting me. Let go of my hands. Let them go I tell you. Then she shrieked terrifyingly, hysterically. Stop it! Stop it! You're killing me!Do you think she can stand it, doctor! said the mother.You get out, said the husband to his wife. Do you want her to die of diphtheria?Come on now, hold her, I said.Then I grasped the child's head with my left hand and tried to get the wooden tongue depressor between her teeth. She fought, with clenched teeth, desperately! But now I also had grown furious--at a child. I tried to hold myself down but I couldn't. I know how to expose a throat for inspection. And I did my best. When finally I got the wooden spatula behind the last teeth and just the point of it into the mouth cavity, she opened up for an instant but before I could see anything she came down again and gripping the wooden blade between her molars she reduced it to splinters before I could get it out again.Aren't you ashamed, the mother yelled at her. Aren't you ashamed to act like that in front of the doctor?Get me a smooth-handled spoon of some sort, I told the mother. We're going through with this. The child's mouth was already bleeding. Her tongue was cut and she was screaming in wild hysterical shrieks. Perhaps I should have desisted and come back in an hour or more. No doubt it would have been better. But I have seen at least two children lying dead in bed of neglect in such cases, and feeling that I must get a diagnosis now or never I went at it again. But the worst of it was that I too had got beyond reason. I could have torn the child apart in my own fury and enjoyed it. It was a pleasure to attack her. My face was burning with it.The damned little brat must be protected against her own idiocy, one says to one's self at such times. Others must be protected against her. It is a social necessity. And all these things are true. But a blind fury, a feeling of adult shame, bred of a longing for muscular release are the operatives. One goes on to the end.In a final unreasoning assault I overpowered the child's neck and jaws. I forced the heavy silver spoon back of her teeth and down her throat till she gagged. And there it was--both tonsils covered with membrane. She had fought valiantly to keep me from knowing her secret. She had been hiding that sore throat for three days at least and lying to her parents in order to escape just such an outcome as this.Now truly she was furious. She had been on the defensive before but now she attacked. Tried to get off her father's lap and fly at me while tears of defeat blinded her eyes.The Street That Got Mislaid Send this page to somebody Print this page Patrick Waddington Marc Girondin had worked in the filing section of the city hall's engineering department for so long that the city was laid out in his mind like a map, full of names and places, intersecting streets and streets that led nowhere, blind alleys and winding lanes.Marc Girondin had worked in the filing section of the city hall's engineering department for so long that the city was laid out in his mind like a map, full of names and places, intersecting streets and streets that led nowhere, blind alleys and winding lanes.In all Montreal no one possessed such knowledge; a dozen policemen and taxi drivers together could not rival him. That is not to say that he actually knew the streets whose names he could recite like a series of incantations, for he did little walking. He knew simply of their existence, where they were, and in what relation they stood to others.But it was enough to make him a specialist. He was undisputed expert of the filing cabinets where all the particulars of all the streets from Abbott to Zotique were indexed, back, forward and across. Those aristocrats, the engineers, the inspectors of water mains and the like, all came to him when they wanted some little particular, some detail, in a hurry They might despise him as a lowly clerk, but they needed him all the same.Marc much preferred his office, despite the profound lack of excitement of his work, to his room on Oven Street (running north and south from Sherbrooke East to St. Catherine), where his neighbors were noisy and sometimes violent, and his landlady consistently so. He tried to explain the meaning of his existence once to a fellow tenant, Louis, but without much success. Louis, when he got the drift, was apt to sneer."So Craig latches on to Bleury and Bleury gets to be Park, so who cares? Why the excitement?""I will show you," said Marc. "Tell me, first, where you live.""Are you crazy? Here on Oven Street. Where else?""How do you know?""How do I know? I'm here, ain't I? I pay my rent, don't I? I get my mail here, don't I?"Marc shook his head patiently."None of that is evidence," he said. "You live here on Oven Street because it says so in my filing cabinet at city hall. The post office sends you mail because my card index tells it to. If my cards didn't say so, you wouldn't exist and Oven Street wouldn't either. That, my friend, is the triumph of bureaucracy."Louis walked away in disgust. "Try telling that to the landlady," he muttered.So Marc continued on his undistinguished career, his fortieth birthday came and went without remark, day after day passed uneventfully. A street was renamed, another constructed, a third widened; it all went carefully into the files, back, forward and across.And then something happened that filled him with amazement, shocked him beyond measure, and made the world of the filing cabinets tremble to their steel bases.One August afternoon, opening a drawer to its fullest extent, he felt something catch. Exploring farther, he discovered a card stuck at the back between the top and bottom. He drew it out and found it to be an old index card, dirty and torn, but still perfectly decipherable. It was labeled RUE DE LA BOUTEILLE VERTE, or GREEN BOTTLE STREET.Marc stared at it in wonder. He had never heard of the place or of anything resembling so odd a name. Undoubtedly it had been retitled in some other fashion befitting the modern tendency. He checked the listed details and ruffled confidently through the master file of street names. It was not there. He made another search, careful and protracted, through the cabinets. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing.Once more he examined the card. There was no mistake. The date of the last regular street inspection was exactly fifteen years, five months and fourteen days ago.As the awful truth burst upon him, Marc dropped the card in horror, then pounced on it again fearfully, glancing over his shoulder as he did so.It was a lost, a forgotten street. For fifteen years and more it had existed in the heart of Montreal, not half a mile from city hall, and no one had known. It had simply dropped out of sight, a stone in water.In his heart, Marc had sometimes dreamed of such a possibility. There were so many obscure places, twisting lanes and streets jumbled together as intricately as an Egyptian labyrinth. But of course it could not happen, not with the omniscient file at hand. Only it had. And it was dynamite. It would blow the office sky-high.Vaguely, in his consternation, Marc remembered how, some time after he first started to work, his section had been moved to another floor. The old-fashioned files were discarded and all the cards made out afresh. It must have been at that time that Green Bottle Street was stuck between the upper and lower drawers.He put the card in his pocket and went home to reflect. That night he slept badly and monstrous figures flitted through his dreams. Among them appeared a gigantic likeness of his chief going mad and forcing him into a red-hot filing cabinet.The next day he made up his mind. Pleading illness, he took the afternoon off and with beating heart went looking for the street.Although he knew the location perfectly, he passed it twice and had to retrace his steps. Baffled, he closed his eyes, consulted his mind's infallible map and walked directly to the entry. It was so narrow that he could touch the adjoining walls with his outstretched hands. A few feet from the sidewalk was a tall and solid wooden structure, much weather-beaten, with a simple latched door in the center. This he opened and stepped inside. Green Bottle Street lay before him.It was perfectly real, and reassuring as well. On either side of a cobbled pavement were three small houses, six in all, each with a diminutive garden in front, spaced off by low iron palings of a kind that has disappeared except in the oldest quarters. The houses looked extremely neat and well kept and the cobbles appeared to have been recently watered and swept. Windowless brick walls of ancient warehouses encircled the six homes and joined at the farther end of the street.At his first glance, Marc realized how it had gotten its unusual name. It was exactly like a bottle in shape.With the sun shining on the stones and garden plots, and the blue sky overhead, the street gave him a momentary sense of well-being and peace. It was completely charming, a scene from a print of fifty years ago.A woman who Marc guessed was some sixty years of age was watering roses in the garden of the first house to his right. She gazed at him motionless, and the water flowed from her can unheeded to the ground. He took off his hat and announced, "I'm from the city engineering department, madam."The woman recovered herself and set her watering can down."So you have found out at last," she said.At these words, Marc's reborn belief that after all he had made a harmless and ridiculous error fled precipitately. There was no mistake."Tell me, please," he said tonelessly.It was a curious story. For several years, she said, the tenants of Green Bottle Street had lived in amity with each other and the landlord, who also resided in one of the little houses. The owner became so attached to them that in a gesture of goodwill he deeded them his property, together with a small sum of money, when he died."We paid our taxes," the woman said, "and made out a multitude of forms and answered the questions of various officials at regular intervals about our property. Then, after a while, we were sent no notices, so we paid no more taxes. No one bothered us at all. It was a long time before we understood that in some way they'd forgotten about us."Marc nodded. Of course, if Green Bottle Street had dropped from the ken of city hall, no inspectors would go there, no census takers, no tax collectors. All would pass merrily by, directed elsewhere by the infallible filing cabinet."Then Michael Flanagan, who lives at number four," she went on, "a most interesting man, you must meet him--Mr. Flanagan called us together and said that if miracles happened, we should aid and abet them. It was he who had the door built and put up at the entrance to keep out passersby or officials who might come along. We used to keep it locked, but it's been so long since anyone came that we don't bother now."Oh, there were many little things we had to do, like getting our mail at the post office and never having anything delivered at the door. Now almost the only visits we make to the outside world are to buy our food and clothes.""And there has never been any change here all that time?" Marc asked."Yes, two of our friends died, and their rooms were empty for a while. Then Jean Desselin--he's in number six and sometimes goes into the city--returned with a Mr. Plonsky, a refugee. Mr. Plonsky was very tired and worn out with his travelings and gladly moved in with us. Miss Hunter, in number three, brought home a very nice person--a distant relative, I believe. They quite understand the situation.""And you, madam?" Marc inquired."My name is Sara Trusdale, and I have lived here for more than twenty years. I hope to end my days here as well."She smiled pleasantly at him, apparently forgetting for the moment that he carried in his pocket a grenade that could blow their little world to pieces.All of them, it seemed, had had their troubles, their losses and failures, before they found themselves in this place of refuge, this Green Bottle Street. To Marc, conscious of his own unsatisfactory existence, it sounded entrancing. He fingered the card in his pocket uncertainly. "Mr. Plonsky and Mr. Flanagan took a great liking to each other," Miss Trusdale continued. "Both of them have been travelers and they like to talk about the things they have seen. Miss Hunter plays the piano and gives us concerts. Then there's Mr. Hazard and Mr. Desselin, who are very fond of chess and who brew wine in the cellar. For myself, I have my flowers and my books. It has been very enjoyable for all of us."Marc and Miss Trusdale sat on her front step for a long time in silence. The sky's blue darkened, the sun disappeared behind the warehouse wall on the left."You remind me of my nephew," Miss Trusdale said suddenly. "He was a dear boy. I was heartbroken when he died in the influenza epidemic after the war. I'm the last of my family, you know."Marc could not recall when he had been spoken to with such simple, if indirect, goodwill. His heart warmed to this old lady. Obscurely he felt on the verge of a great moral discovery. He took the card out of his pocket."I found this yesterday in the filing cabinet," he said. "No one else knows about it yet. If it should come out, there would be a great scandal, and no end of trouble for all of you as well. Newspaper reporters, tax collectors . . ."He thought again of his landlady, his belligerent neighbors, his room that defied improvement. "I wonder," he said slowly, "I am a good tenant, and I wonder . . .""Oh yes," she leaned forward eagerly, "you could have the top floor of my house. I have more space than I know what to do with. I'm sure it would suit you. You must come and see it right away."The mind of Marc Girondin, filing clerk, was made up. With a gesture of renunciation he tore the card across and dropped the pieces in the watering can. As far as he was concerned, Green Bottle Street would remain mislaid forever.Once upon a time two poor Woodcutters were making their way home through a great pine-forest. It was winter, and a night of bitter cold. The snow lay thick upon the ground, and upon the branches of the trees: the frost kept snapping the little twigs on either side of them, as they passed: and when they came to the Mountain- Torrent she was hanging motionless in air, for the Ice-King had kissed her.So cold was it that even the animals and the birds did not know what to make of it.'Ugh!' snarled the Wolf, as he limped through the brushwood with his tail between his legs, 'this is perfectly monstrous weather. Why doesn't the Government look to it?''Weet! weet! weet!' twittered the green Linnets, 'the old Earth is dead and they have laid her out in her white shroud.''The Earth is going to be married, and this is her bridal dress,' whispered the Turtle-doves to each other. Their little pink feet were quite frost-bitten, but they felt that it was their duty to take a romantic view of the situation.'Nonsense!' growled the Wolf. 'I tell you that it is all the fault of the Government, and if you don't believe me I shall eat you.' The Wolf had a thoroughly practical mind, and was never at a loss for a good argument.'Well, for my own part,' said the Woodpecker, who was a born philosopher, 'I don't care an atomic theory for explanations. If a thing is so, it is so, and at present it is terribly cold.'Terribly cold it certainly was. The little Squirrels, who lived inside the tall fir-tree, kept rubbing each other's noses to keep themselves warm, and the Rabbits curled themselves up in their holes, and did not venture even to look out of doors. The only people who seemed to enjoy it were the great horned Owls. Their feathers were quite stiff with rime, but they did not mind, and they rolled their large yellow eyes, and called out to each other across the forest, 'Tu-whit! Tu-whoo! Tu-whit! Tu-whoo! what delightful weather we are having!'On and on went the two Woodcutters, blowing lustily upon their fingers, and stamping with their huge iron-shod boots upon the caked snow. Once they sank into a deep drift, and came out as white as millers are, when the stones are grinding; and once they slipped on the hard smooth ice where the marsh-water was frozen, and their faggots fell out of their bundles, and they had to pick them up and bind them together again; and once they thought that they had lost their way, and a great terror seized on them, for they knew that the Snow is cruel to those who sleep in her arms. But they put their trust in the good Saint Martin, who watches over all travellers, and retraced their steps, and went warily, and at last they reached the outskirts of the forest, and saw, far down in the valley beneath them, the lights of the village in which they dwelt.So overjoyed were they at their deliverance that they laughed aloud, and the Earth seemed to them like a flower of silver, and the Moon like a flower of gold.Yet, after that they had laughed they became sad, for they remembered their poverty, and one of them said to the other, 'Why did we make merry, seeing that life is for the rich, and not for such as we are? Better that we had died of cold in the forest, or that some wild beast had fallen upon us and slain us.''Truly,' answered his companion, 'much is given to some, and little is given to others. Injustice has parcelled out the world, nor is there equal division of aught save of sorrow.'But as they were bewailing their misery to each other this strange thing happened. There fell from heaven a very bright and beautiful star. It slipped down the side of the sky, passing by the other stars in its course, and, as they watched it wondering, it seemed to them to sink behind a clump of willow-trees that stood hard by a little sheepfold no more than a stone's-throw away.'Why! there is a crook of gold for whoever finds it,' they cried, and they set to and ran, so eager were they for the gold.And one of them ran faster than his mate, and outstripped him, and forced his way through the willows, and came out on the other side, and lo! there was indeed a thing of gold lying on the white snow. So he hastened towards it, and stooping down placed his hands upon it, and it was a cloak of golden tissue, curiously wrought with stars, and wrapped in many folds. And he cried out to his comrade that he had found the treasure that had fallen from the sky, and when his comrade had come up, they sat them down in the snow, and loosened the folds of the cloak that they might divide the pieces of gold. But, alas! no gold was in it, nor silver, nor, indeed, treasure of any kind, but only a little child who was asleep.And one of them said to the other: 'This is a bitter ending to our hope, nor have we any good fortune, for what doth a child profit to a man? Let us leave it here, and go our way, seeing that we are poor men, and have children of our own whose bread we may not give to another.'But his companion answered him: 'Nay, but it were an evil thing to leave the child to perish here in the snow, and though I am as poor as thou art, and have many mouths to feed, and but little in the pot.
&#xxxx; Location: Lexington, Concert on Dec 7 xxxx
&#xxxx; Post ID: xxxx613 lexington
&#xxxx; Other ads by this user:
Jeff Dunham Best Concert Tickets at Rupp Arena (Concert on Dec 7 xxxx) buy, sell, trade: tickets for sale
Tickets For George Strait at KFC Yum! Center in Louisville, KY (Concerts on March 7) buy, sell, trade: tickets for sale
Brad Paisley, Chris Young Tickets in Louisville, KY on January 11, xxxx (Louisville, KY) buy, sell, trade: tickets for sale
Brad Paisley, Chris Young Tickets in Pikeville, KY on January 10, xxxx (Pikeville, KY) buy, sell, trade: tickets for sale
Skillet & Third Day Concert at KFC Yum! Center in Louisville, KY Tickets (Best VIP Concert Tickets) buy, sell, trade: tickets for sale
//
//]]>
Email this ad
Play it safe. Avoid Scammers.
Most of the time, transactions outside of your local area involving money orders, cashier checks, wire transfers or shipping (especially overseas shipping) are scams or frauds.
Report all scam attempts to abuse@backpage.com.
//
//]]>
Account Login | Affiliate Program | Promote Us | Help | Privacy Policy | Terms of Use | User Safety | backpage.com  © Copyright xxxx
lexington.backpage.com is an interactive computer service that enables access by multiple users and should not be treated as the publisher or speaker of any information provided by another information content provider.
Jeff Dunham
Rupp Arena
Lexington
Saturday
12/7/xxxx
5:00 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham xxxx xxxx Concert Tickets & Schedule
Jeff Dunham
Crown Coliseum - The Crown Center
Fayetteville, NC
Wednesday
12/4/xxxx
8:00 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
Patriot Center
Fairfax, VA
Thursday
12/5/xxxx
7:00 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
Consol Energy Center
Pittsburgh, PA
Friday
12/6/xxxx
8:00 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
Rupp Arena
Lexington, KY
Saturday
12/7/xxxx
5:00 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
Ford Center - IN
Evansville, IN
Sunday
12/8/xxxx
3:00 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
Caesars Palace - Colosseum
Las Vegas, NV
Thursday
12/12/xxxx
7:30 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
Huntington Center (Formerly Lucas County Arena)
Toledo, OH
Thursday
12/26/xxxx
7:30 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
First Niagara Center (formerly HSBC Arena)
Buffalo, NY
Friday
12/27/xxxx
8:00 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
Mohegan Sun Arena at Casey Plaza (formerly Wachovia Arena)
Wilkes Barre, PA
Saturday
12/28/xxxx
5:00 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
Santander Arena (Formerly Sovereign Center)
Reading, PA
Sunday
12/29/xxxx
3:00 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
Baltimore Arena (Formerly 1st Mariner Arena)
Baltimore, MD
Monday
12/30/xxxx
7:30 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
XL Center - (Formerly Hartford Civic Center)
Hartford, CT
Tuesday
12/31/xxxx
3:00 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
Bridgestone Arena (Formerly Sommet Center)
Nashville, TN
Wednesday
1/8/xxxx
7:30 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
Philips Arena
Atlanta, GA
Thursday
1/9/xxxx
7:30 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
BJCC Arena
Birmingham, AL
Friday
1/10/xxxx
8:00 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
Knoxville Civic Coliseum
Knoxville, TN
Saturday
1/11/xxxx
5:00 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
Colonial Life Arena
Columbia, SC
Sunday
1/12/xxxx
3:00 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
New Orleans Arena
New Orleans, LA
Wednesday
1/22/xxxx
7:30 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
Pensacola Bay Center
Pensacola, FL
Thursday
1/23/xxxx
7:30 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
Jacksonville Veterans Memorial Arena
Jacksonville, FL
Friday
1/24/xxxx
8:00 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
BB&T Center
Sunrise, FL
Saturday
1/25/xxxx
5:00 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
Daytona Beach Ocean Center
Daytona Beach, FL
Sunday
1/26/xxxx
3:00 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
Target Center
Minneapolis, MN
Wednesday
2/5/xxxx
7:30 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
BMO Harris Bradley Center
Milwaukee, WI
Thursday
2/6/xxxx
7:30 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
Family Arena
Saint Charles, MO
Friday
2/7/xxxx
8:00 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
INTRUST Bank Arena
Wichita, KS
Saturday
2/8/xxxx
5:00 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
Pinnacle Bank Arena
Lincoln, NE
Sunday
2/9/xxxx
3:00 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
Sprint Center
Kansas City, MO
Thursday
2/13/xxxx
7:30 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
Verizon Arena
North Little Rock, AR
Friday
2/14/xxxx
8:00 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
American Airlines Center
Dallas, TX
Saturday
2/15/xxxx
7:00 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
Wells Fargo Arena - IA
Des Moines, IA
Wednesday
2/26/xxxx
7:30 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
I Wireless Center
Moline, IL
Thursday
2/27/xxxx
7:30 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
State Farm Center
Champaign, IL
Friday
2/28/xxxx
8:00 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
Landers Center
Southaven, MS
Saturday
3/1/xxxx
5:00 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
Pan American Center
Las Cruces, NM
Thursday
3/13/xxxx
TBD
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
S Airways Center
Phoenix, AZ
Friday
3/14/xxxx
8:00 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
Santa Ana Star Center
Rio Rancho, NM
Saturday
3/15/xxxx
5:00 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
Budweiser Events Center
Loveland, CO
Sunday
3/16/xxxx
3:00 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
Moda Center at the Rose Quarter
Portland, OR
Wednesday
3/26/xxxx
7:30 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
Chumash Casino
Santa Ynez, CA
Thursday
3/27/xxxx
TBD
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
Idaho Center
Nampa, ID
Friday
3/28/xxxx
7:30 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
Reno Events Center
Reno, NV
Saturday
3/29/xxxx
8:00 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets
Jeff Dunham
Sleep Train Arena
Sacramento, CA
Sunday
3/30/xxxx
3:00 PM
Buy Best Concert Tickets