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I've seen men as are wonderful handy wi' children. The men are awk’ard and contrairy mostly, God help ’em—but when the drink's out of 'em, they aren't unsensible, though they're bad for leeching and bandaging—so fiery and unpatient.
If you can't bring your mind to frighten the child off touching things, you must do what you can to keep 'em out of her way. That's what I do wi' the pups as the lads are allays a-rearing. They will worry and gnaw—worry and gnaw they will, if it was one's Sunday cap as hung anywhere so as they could drag it. They know no difference, God help 'em : it's the pushing o' the teeth as sets 'em on, that's what it is.
Dolly.—You must fix on a name for it, because it must have a name giv' it when it's christened.
Silas.—My mother's name was Hephzibah, and my little sister was named after her.
Dolly.—Eh, that's a hard name. I partly think it isn't a christened name.
Silas.—It's a Bible name.
Dolly.—Then I've no call to speak again' it; but you see I'm no scholard, and I'm slow at catching the words. My husband says I'm allays like as if I was putting the haft for the handle—that 's what he saysfor he's very sharp, God help him. But it was awk’ard calling your little sister by such a hard name, when you'd got nothing big to say, like-wasn't it, Master Marner ?
Silas.—We called her Eppie.
Dolly.—Well, if it was noways wrong to shorten the name, it 'ud be a deal handier.
I’m obliged to have the same (gowns) as Nancy, you know, for all I'm five years older, and it makes me look yallow ; for she never will have anything without I have mine just like it, because she wants us to look like sisters. And I tell her, folks 'ull think it's my weakness makes me fancy as I shall look pretty in what she looks pretty in. For I am ugly—there's no denying that : I feature my father's family. But, law ! I don't mind. The pretty uns do for fly-catchers--they keep the men off us. I've no opinion o'the men, Miss Gunn–I don't know what you have. And as for fretting and stewing about what they'll think of you from morning till night, and making your life uneasy about what they're doing when they're out o' your sight—as I tell Nancy, it's a folly no woman need be guilty of, if she's got a good father and a good home : let her leave it to them as have got no fortin, and can't help themselves. As I say, Mr. Have-your-own-way is the best husband, and the only one I'd ever promise to obey.
I'm a bad un to live with folks when they don't like the truth.
It drives me past patience, that way oʻthe menalways wanting and wanting, and never easy with what they've got : they can't sit comfortable in their chairs when they've neither ache nor pain, but either they
must stick a pipe in their mouths, to make 'em better than well, or else they must be swallowing something strong, though they're forced to make haste before the next meal comes in.
0, I know the way o' wives ; they set one on to abuse their husbands, and then they turn round on one and praise 'em as if they wanted to sell 'em.
There's this dairymaid, now she knows she's to be married, turned Michaelmas, she'd as lief pour the new milk into the pig-trough as into the pans. That's the way with 'em all : it's as if they thought the world 'ud be new-made because they're to be married.
There's nothing like a dairy if folks want a bit o' worrit to make the days pass. For as for rubbing furniture, when you can once see your face in a table there's nothing else to look for ; but there's always something fresh with the dairy : for even in the depths o'winter there's some pleasure in conquering the butter, and making it come whether or no.
There's nothing kills a man so soon as having nobody to find fault with but himself. It's a deal the best way o' being master, to let somebody else do the ordering, and keep the blaming in your own hands. It’ud save many a man a stroke, I believe.
You're right there, Tookey : there's allays two 'pinions; there's the 'pinion a man has of himsen, and there's the 'pinion other folks have on him. There'd be two 'pinions about a cracked bell, if the bell could hear itself.
-OOur family's been known for musicianers as far back as anybody can tell. But them things are dying out, as I tell Solomon every time he comes round; there's no voices like what there used to be, and there's nobody remembers what we remember, if it isn't the old crows.
It isn't every queer-looksed thing as Old Harry's had the making of-I mean, speaking o' toads and such ; for they're often harmless, and useful against varmin.
-0% Meanin' goes but a little way i' most things, for you may mean to stick things together and your glue may be bad, and then where are you?
Janiwary, to be sure, 's a unreasonable time to be married in, for it isn't like a christening or a burying, as you can't help.
-OThat's what you're allays at ; if I throw a stone and hit, you think there's summat better than hitting, and you try to throw a stone beyond.
-oThere's reasons in things as nobody knows onthat's pretty much what I've made out; though some
folks are so wise, they'll find you fifty reasons straight off, and all the while the real reason 's winking at 'em . in the corner, and they niver see't.
There's windings i' things as they may carry you to the fur end o' the prayer-book afore you get back to 'em.
Where's the use o' talking ?—you can't think what goes on in a 'cute man's inside.
If Old Harry 's a mind to do a bit o' kindness for a holiday, like, who's got anything against it?
Mr. Macey.—I doubt Godfrey's got a soft place in his head, else why should he be turned round the finger by that offal Dunsey as nobody's seen o'late, and let him kill that fine hunting hoss as was the talk o the country? And one while he was allays after Miss Nancy, and then it all went off again, like a smell o' hot porridge, as I may say. That wasn't my way when I went a-coorting.
Ben Winthrop.—Ah, but mayhap, Miss Nancy hung off, like, and your lass didn't.
Mr. Macey.—I should say she didn't. Before I said sniff,' I took care to know as she'd say 'snaff,' and pretty quick too. I wasn't a-going to open my mouth, like a dog at a fly, and snap it to again, wi' nothing to swaller.