« PreviousContinue »
However strong a man's resolution may be, it costs him something to carry it out, now and then. We may determine not to gather any cherries, and keep our hands sturdily in our pockets, but we can't prevent our mouths from watering.–Arthur Donnithorne.
Nonsense, child ! Nature never makes a ferret in the shape of a mastiff. You'll never persuade me that I can't tell what men are by their outsides. If I don't like a man's looks, depend upon it I shall never like him. I don't want to know people that look ugly and disagreeable, any more than I want to taste dishes that look disagreeable. If they make me shudder at the first glance, I say, take them away. An ugly, piggish, or fishy eye, now, makes me feel quite ill ; it's like a bad smell.---Mrs. Irwine.
Eh, it's a poor look-out when th’ould foulks doesna like the young uns.-Old Martin Poyser.
It isn't right for old nor young nayther to make a bargain all o’ their own side. What's good for one's good all round i’ the long run.—Martin Poyser.
I'm no friend to young fellows a-marrying afore they know the difference atween a crab an'a apple ; but they may wait o'er long.-Martin Poyser.
It 's poor foolishness to think o'saving by going against your conscience. There's that Jim Wakefield, as they used to call ‘Gentleman Wakefield,' used to do the same of a Sunday as o' week-days, and took no heed to right or wrong, as if there was nayther God nor devil. An' what's he come to ? Why, I saw him myself last market-day a-carrying a basket wi' oranges in't.—Martin Poyser.
I should be loath to leave th’ old place, and the parish where I was bred and born, and father afore me. We should leave our roots behind us, I doubt, and niver thrive again.—Martin Poyser.
The weather, you see, 's a ticklish thing, an' a fool 'ull hit on't sometimes when a wise man misses; that's why the almanecks get so much credit. It's one o' them chancy things as fools thrive on.—Mr. Craig.
END OF "ADAM BEDE.'
THE MILL ON THE FLOSS.
· George Eliot (in propria persona). JOURNEYING down the Rhone on a summer's day, you have perhaps felt the sunshine made dreary by those ruined villages which stud the banks in certain parts of its course, telling how the swift river once rose, like an angry, destroying god, sweeping down the feeble generations whose breath is in their nostrils, and making their dwellings a desolation. Strange contrast, you may have thought, between the effect produced on us by these dismal remnants of commonplace houses, which in their best days were but the sign of a sordid life, belonging in all its details to our own vulgar era ; and the effect produced by those ruins on the castled Rhine, which have crumbled and mellowed into such harmony with the green and rocky steeps, that they seem to have a natural fitness, like the mountain-pine : nay, even in the day when they were built they must have had this fitness, as if they had been raised by an earth-born race, who had inherited from their mighty parent a sublime instinct of form. And that was a day of romance! If those robberbarons were somewhat grim and drunken ogres, they had a certain grandeur of the wild beast in them