Yet what is more pitiful?

In his first bitterness at this inopportune humiliation, coming like a drop of vinegar in the honey of royal favour, he wrote furiously to Gansbacher, "I see now that her views of high art are not above the usual pitiful standardnamely, that art is but a means of procuring soup, meat, and shirts."

It is hard to find in story or history a more pitiful struggle against fate and the frustration of every deep desire than the last days of Carl Maria von Weber, hurrying from triumph to triumph, and dying as he jolted along his way, or stood bowing with hollow heart before uproarious multitudes.

Sheila was huddled on the floor beside his bed, her hand pressing his urgently in the pitiful attempt, common to human love, to hold back the resolute soul from the next step in its adventure.

It followed his memory like some weary, pitiful little ghost.

And then she said something which showed that she was reasoned after her fashionho, was sharp enough, could see beyond the tip of her nose; could think, with the pitiful little brain of a savage.

Was I to love and care for and worship this child, and have her grow up with all her mother's vanity and animal nature, and have her turn on me some day and show me that what is bred in the bone must tell, and that I was a fool againa pitiful fond fool?

Of all the pitiful sights I have ever seen, that road was the most utterly pitiful.

Of all the pitiful sights I have ever seen, that road was the most utterly pitiful.

If it be true that the Czar has ordered all Russians to leave Italy, that piece of pitiful spite would show how he hates the Italian cause, and also that it is not in his power seriously to retard its progress at present.

If a great man struggling with the storms of fate be the sublimest spectacle, a mediocre man in the same position is surely the most pitiful.

Are you a man of honour or nought but a mean, pitiful blackguard?

His description of that camp was all-important, proving that my father's body had not been mutilated, but lay in his mountain hut three long months, sacred as when left by my little mother, who had watched over him to the pitiful end, had closed his eyes, folded his arms across his breast, and wrapped the burial sheet about his precious form.

"Just then a pretty little Miss Chanced to be walking by; She stopp'd, and looking pitiful, She begg'd me not to cry.

And far away in another city whose bright lights glow all night Tony Holiday was still playing Madge to packed houses, happy in her triumph but with heart very pitiful for her beloved Miss Clay whose sorrow and continued illness had made possible the fruition of her own eager hopes.

Jean thought if she cried her grief would not have been so pitiful to behold.

The wedding was to be very quiet not only because of Granny but because they were all very pitiful of Tony's still fresh grief, the more so because she bore it so bravely and quietly, anxious lest she cast any shadow upon the happiness of the others, especially that of Larry and Ruth.

Hunt and Probert were pitiful wretches, fit for the Bicêtre.

She was beaten down, overwhelmed, freed, as though the transfiguration were her own, from the pitiful barriers of consciousness.... "Was the concert good?" asked Mrs. Marshall, yawning, and reaching out of bed to kiss Sylvia sleepily.

In every view I felt my heart ulcerated with a sense of his injustice; and my very soul spurned these pitiful indulgences, at a time that he was grinding me into dust with the inexorableness of his vengeance.

My chain permitted me to move only about eighteen inches to the right or left; and, having borne this confinement for several weeks, my very heart leaped at the pitiful consolation of being able to range, without constraint, the miserable coop in which I was immured.

You will then complain of the bitterness of life, and prate of the refining influences of music; of the help to spiritual-mindedness given by the exhibition on the public stage of mockeries of God's world, wherein some pitiful temporal triumph of simulated virtue in the last act is the apology for the vicious trifling that has gone before.

It is pitiful to remember him that morning, sitting quiet, unconscious, and free, utterly in the hands of that mighty Inquisition, the Metropolitan Police, with its countless arms, its cells and myrmidons in the remotest corners of the Continent, at the mercy of so merciless a monster, and momently closer involved, like some poor prey round which a spider spins its bewildering web.

But I feel like saying: "Poor, pitiful soul!

Pitiful, indeed, it becomes then.