Spinster and dog (Google Books)

Jane’s Fame: How Jane Austen Conquered the World
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Claire Harman – 2010 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
Jane’s Fame tells the fascinating story of Jane Austen’s renown, from the years of rejection the author faced during her lifetime to the global recognition and adoration she now enjoys.
One of Our Conquerors – Volume 3 – Page 221
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George Meredith – 1892 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
Though not pretending to the Muse’s crown so far, the little dog had qualities to entrance the spinster sex. His mistresses talked of him ; of his readiness to go forth ; of the audible first line of his hymn or sonnet ; of his instinct telling him that …
Romance and Exemplarity in Post-war Spanish Women’s Narratives
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Nino Kebadze – 2009 – ‎Snippet view
It is a kind of appendage of spinsters and matrons who, having no one to love, become besotted with a lapdog. Adulteration of something as elevated as love!) (Ayala 1054-5) Doubts about Evangelina’s character are introduced as soon as her …
The Delineator – Volume 66 – Page 400
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R. S. O’Loughlin, ‎H. F. Montgomery, ‎Charles Dwyer – 1905 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
And so it happened almost daily that the Spinster herself sponged off Ladybird’s face and “pedicured hel hoofs. … by far, take care of her than wash Mrs. Jenkin Jones’s lapdog, as she does, or comb fleas out of Miss Swampscott’s Angora cats.
The Agatha Christie companion: the complete guide to Agatha …
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Dennis Sanders, ‎Len Lovallo – 1984 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
Clearly there was more behind Miss Arundell’s letter than “some upset to her fat lapdog.” The late spinster was heir to a sizeable fortune left to her by her father, General Arundell. It had always been assumed in Market Basing that the Arundell …
An Earl Like You: The Wagers of Sin
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Caroline Linden – 2018 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
When you gamble at love .
Charles Dickens’ Complete Works – Page 151
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Charles Dickens – 1881 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
Here a pair of lovers met to quarrel and make up; there a dark-eyed nursery-maid had letter eyes for Templars than her charge ; on this hand an ancient spinster, with her lapdog in a string, regarded both enormities with scornful sidelong looks …
Barnaby Rudge – Volume 1 – Page 121
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Charles Dickens – 1866 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
Here a pair of lovers met to quarrel and make up ; there a dark-eyed nursery-maid had better eyes for Templars than her charge ; on this hand an ancient spinster, with her lapdog in a string, regarded both enormities with scornful sidelong …
Works – Volume 20 – Page 176
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1875 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
Every day we see venerable spinsters who , delight in the moral murder of scandal, and guillotine a “reputation between … fondle lapdogs like Couthon ——in short, while the masculine attributes of humanity seem obliterated, we shall find him …
The Works of Charles Dickens ; with Introductions, General Essay, …
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Charles Dickens – 1897 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
Here a pair of lovers met to quarrel and make up; there a dark-eyed nursery-maid had better eyes for Templars than her charge ; on this hand an ancient spinster, with her lapdog in a string, regarded both enormities with scornful sidelong …

Barnaby Rudge: A Domestic Drama, in Three Acts
By Charles Selby, Charles Melville
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were soothing Nature in her sleep. By little and little they ceased talking, and rode on side by side in a pleasant silence. “The Maypole lights are brilliant to-night,” said Edward, as they rode along the lane from which, while the intervening trees were bare of leaves, that hostelry was visible. “Brilliant indeed, sir,” returned Joe, rising in his stirrups to get a better view. “Lights in the large room, and a fire glimmering in the best bedchamber Why, what company can this be for, I wonder 1″ “Some benighted horseman wending towards London, and deterred from going on to-night by the marvellous tales of my friend the highwayman, I wuppose,” said Edward. “He must be a horseman of good quality to have such accommodations. Your bed too, sir—l” “No matter, Joe. Any other room will do for me. But come—there’s nine striking. We may push on.” They cantered forward at as brisk a pace as Joe’s charger could attain, and presently stopped in the little copse where he had left her in the morning. Edward dismounted, gave his bridle to his companion, and walked with a light step towards the house. A female servant was waiting at a side gate in the garden-wall, and admitted him without delay. He hurried along the terrace-walk, and darted up a flight of broad steps leading into an old and gloomy hall, whose walls were ormamented with rusty suits of armour, antlers, weapons of the chase, and suchlike garniture Here he paused, but not long; for as he looked round, as if expecting the attendant to have followed, and wondering she had not done so, a lovely girl appeared, whose dark hair next moment rested on his breast. Almost at the same instant a heavy hand was laid upon her arm, Edward felt himself thrust away, and Mr. Haredale stood between them. He regarded the young man sternly without removing his hat ; with one hand clasped his niece, and with the other, in which he held his riding-whip,

motioned him towards the door. The young man drew himself up, and returned his gaze. “This is well done of you, sir, to corrupt my servants, and enter my house unbidden and in secret, like a thief ” said Mr. Haredale. “Leave it, sir, and return no more.” “Miss Haredale’s presence,” returned the young man, “and your relationship to her, give you a license which, if you are a brave man, you will not abuse. You have compelled me to this course, and the fault is yours—not mine.” “It is neither generous, nor honourable, nor the act of a true man, sir,” retorted the other, “to tamper with the affections of a weak, trusting girl, while you shrink, in your unworthiness, from her guardian and protector, and dare not meet the light of day. More than this I will not say to you, save that I forbid you this house, and require you to be gone.” “It is neither generous, nor honourable, nor the act of a true man to play the spy,” said Edward. “Your words imply dishonour, and I reject them with the scorn they merit.” “You will find,” said Mr. Haredale, calmly, “your trusty go-between in waiting at the gate by which you entered. I have played no spy’s part, sir. I chanced to see you pass the gate, and followed. You might have heard me knocking for admission, had you been less swift of foot, or lingered in the garden. Please to withdraw. Your presence here is offensive to me and distressful to my niece.” As he said these words, he passed his arm about the waist of the terrified and weeping girl, and drew her closer to him ; and though the habitual severity of his manner was scarcely changed, there was yet apparent in the action an air of kindness and sympathy for her distress. “Mr. Haredale,” said Edward, “your arm encircles her on whom I have set my every hope and thought, and to purchase one minute’s happiness for whom I would gladly lay down my life ; this house is the casket that holds

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‘gentleman’s despondency with tenfold aggravation. They rode back to the Maypole without exchanging a syllable, and arrived at the door with heavy hearts. | Old John, who had peeped from behind the red curtain as they rode up shouting for Hugh, was out directly, and said with great importance as he held the young man’s stirrup, “He’s confortable in bed—the best bed. A thorough gentleman ; the smilingest, affablest gentleman I ever had to do with.” * Who, Willet 2″ said Edward carei lessly, as he dismounted. “Your worthy father, sir,” replied John. “Your honourable, venerable father.” | “What does he mean : ” said Edward, looking with a mixture of alarm and doubt at Joe. “What do you mean t’” said Joe. “Don’t you see Mr. Edward doesn’t understand, father ” “Why, didn’t you know of it, sir?” said John, opening his eyes wide. “How very singular ! Bless you, he’s been here ever since noon to-day, and Mr. Haredale has been having a long talk with him, and hasn’t been gone an hour.” “My father, Willet!” “Yes, sir, he told me so—a handsome, slim, upright gentleman, in greenand-gold. In your old room up yonder, sir. No doubt you can go in, sir,” said John, walking backwards into the road and looking up at the window. “He hasn’t put out his candles yet, I see.” Edward glanced at the window also, and hastily murmuring that he had changed his mind—forgotten something | —and must return to London, mounted his horse again and rode away; leaving the Willets, father and son, looking at each other in mute astonishment.

CHAPTER XV.

At noon next day, John Willet’s guest sat lingering over his breakfast in his own home, surrounded by a variety of comforts, which left the Maypole’s highest flight and utmost stretch of accommodation at an infinite distance behind, and suggested comparisons very much to the disadvantage and disfavour of that venerable tavern. In the broad old-fashioned windowseat—as capacious as many modern sofas, and cushioned to serve the purpose of a luxurious settee—in the broad old-fashioned window-seat of a roomy chamber, Mr. Chester lounged, very much at his ease, over a wellfurnished breakfast-table. He had exchanged his riding-coat for a handsome morning-gown, his boots for slippers; had been at great pains to atone for the having been obliged to make his toilet when he rose without the aid of dressing-case and tiring equipage ; and, having gradually forgotten through these means the discomforts of an indifferent night and an early ride, was in a state of perfect complacency, indolence, and satisfaction. The situation in which he found himself, indeed, was particularly favourable to the growth of these feelings; for, not to mention the lazy influence of a late and lonely breakfast, with the additional sedative of a newspaper, there was an air of repose about his place of residence peculiar to itself, and which hangs about it, even in these times, when it is more bustling and busy than it was in days of yore. There are, still, worse places than the Temple, on a sultry day, for basking in the sun, or resting idly in the shade. There is yet a drowsiness in its courts, and a dreamy dullness in its trees and gardens; those who pace ‘ts lanes and squares may yet hear the echoes of their footsteps on the sounding stones, and read upon its gates, in passiug from the tumult of the Strand

or Fleet Street, “Who enters hero leaves noise behind.” There is still the plash of falling water in fair Fountain Court, and there are yet nooks and corners where dun-haunted students may look down from their dusty garrets, on a vagrant ray of sunlight patching the shade of the tall houses, and seldom troubled to reflect a passing stranger’s form. There is yet, in the Temple, something of a clerkly monkish atmosphere, which public offices of law have not disturbed, and even legal firms have failed to scare away. In summer time, its pumps suggest to thirsty idlers, springs cooler, and more sparkling, and deeper than other wells; and as they trace the spillings of full pitchers on the heated ground, they snuff the freshness, and, sighing, cast sad looks towards the Thames, and think of baths and boats, and saunter on, despondent. It was in a room in Paper Buildings—a row of goodly tenements, shaded in front by ancient trees, and looking, at the back, upon the Temple Gardens—that this, our idler, lounged; now taking up again the paper he had laid down a hundred times; now trifling with the fragments of his meal; now pulling forth his golden toothpick, and glancing leisurely about the room, or out at window into the trim garden walks, where a few early loiterers were already pacing to and fro. Here a pair of lovers met to quarrel and make up; there a darkeyed nursery-maid had better eyes for Templars than her charge ; on this hand an ancient spinster, with her lapdog in a string, regarded both enormities with scornful sidelong looks; on that a weazen old gentleman, ogling the nursery-maid, looked with like scorn upon the spinster, and wondered she didn’t know she was no longer young. Apart from all these, on the river’s margin two or three couple of business-talkers walked slowly up and down in earnest conversation; and one young man sat thoughtfully on a bench, alone. “Ned is amazingly patient 1” said Mr. Chester, glancing at this lastnamed person as he set down his teacup and plied the golden toothpick, “immensely patient . He was sitting i. when I began to dress, and as scarcely changed his posture since. A most eccentric dog l’” As he spoke, the figure rose, and came towards him with a rapid pace. “Really, as if he had heard me,” said the father, resuming his newspaper with a yawn. “Dear Ned l’” Presently the room-door opened, and the young man entered ; to whom his father gently waved his hand, and smiled. “Are you at leisure for a little conversation, sir?” said Edward. “Surely, Ned. I am always at leisure. You know my constitution.— Have you breakfasted ” “Three hours ago.” “What a very early dog 1″ cried his father, contemplating him from behind the toothpick, with a languid smile. “The truth is,” said Edward, bringing a chair forward, and seating himself near the table, “that I slept but ill last night, and was glad to rise. The cause of my uneasiness cannot but be known to you, sir; and it is upon that, I wish to speak.” “My dear boy,” returned his father, “confide in me, I beg. But you know my constitution—don’t be prosy, Ned.” “I will be plain, and brief,” said Edward. “Don’t say you will, my good fellow,” returned his father, crossing his legs, “ or you certainly will not. You are going to tell me.” “Plainly this, then,” said the son, with an air of great concern, “that I know where you were last night— from being on the spot, indeed—and whom you saw, and what your purwas.” “You don’t say so I ” cried his father. “I am delighted to hear it.

It saves us the worry, and terrible wear and tear of a long explanation, and is a great relief for both. At the very house ! Why didn’t you come up I should have been charmed to see you.” “I knew that what I had to say would be better said after a night’s reflection, when both of us were cool,” returned the son. “’Fore Gad, Ned,” rejoined the father, “I was cool enough last night. That detestable Maypole ! By some infernal contrivance of the builder, it holds the wind, and keeps it fresh. You remember the sharp east wind that blew so hard five weeks ago I give you my honour it was rampant in that old house last night, though out of doors there was a dead calm. But you were saying” “I was about to say, Heaven knows how seriously and earnestly, that you have made me wretched, sir. Will you hear me gravely for a moment : * “My dear Ned,” said his father, “I will hear you with the patience of an anchorite. Oblige me with the milk.” “I saw Miss Haredale last night,” Edward resumed, when he had complied with this request; “her uncle, in her presence, immediately after your interview, and, as of course I know, in consequence of it, forbade me the house, and, with circumstances of indignity which are of your creation I am sure, commanded me to leave it on the instant.” “For his manner of doing so, I give you my honour, Ned, I am not accountable,” said his father. “That you must excuse. He is a mere boor, a log, a brute, with no address in life. —Positively a fly in the jug. The first I have seen this year.” Edward rose, and paced the room. His imperturbable parent sipped his tea. “Father,” said the young man, stopping at length before him, “we must not trifle in this matter. We must not deceive each other, or ourselves. Let me pursue the mauly open

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have rendered them

limit. The idea of wealth has been familiarised to me from my cradle. I have been taught to look upon those means, by which men raise them

‘selves to riches and distinction, as

being beyond my heeding, and beneath my care. I have been, as the phrase is, liberally educated, and am fit for nothing. I find myself at last wholly dependent upon you, with no resource but in your favour. In this momen. tous question of my life we do not, and it would seem we never can, agree. I have shrunk instinctively alike from those to whom you have urged me to pay court, and from the motives of interest and gain which in your eyes visible objects for my suit. If there never has been thus much plainspeaking between us before, sir, the fault has not been mine, indeed. If

“My dear fellow,” interrupted his I seem to speak too plainly now, it is, father with a compassionate smile, believe me father, in the hope that there

“you do nothing of the kind. You don’t know anything about it. There’s no such thing, I assure you. Now, do take my word for it. You have good sense, Ned, great good sense. I wonder you should be guilty of such amazing absurdities. You really surprise me.” “I repeat,” said his son firmly, “ that I love her. You have interposed to part us, and have, to the extent I have just now told you of, succeeded. May I induce you, sir, in time, to think more favourably of our attachment, or is it your intention and your fixed design to hold us asunder if you can ” “My dear Ned,” returned his father, taking a pinch of snuff and pushing his box towards him, “that is my purpose most undoubtedly.” “The time that has elapsed,” rejoined his son, “since I began to now her worth, has flown in such a dream that until now I have hardly once paused to reflect upon my true position. What is it From my childhood I have been accustomed to luxury and idleness, and have been bred as though my fortune were large,

may be a franker spirit, a worthier reliance, and a kinder confidence between us in time to come.” “My good fellow,” said his smiling father, “you quite affect me. Go on, my dear Edward, I beg. But remember your promise. There is great earnestness, vast candour, a manifest sincerity in all you say, but I fear I observe the faintest indications of a tendency to prose.” “ U am very sorry, sir.” “I am very sorry too, Ned, but you know that I cannot fix my mind for any long period upon one subject. If you’ll come to the point at once, I’ll imagine all that ought to go before, and conclude it said. Oblige me with the milk again. Listening, invariably makes me feverish.” “What I would say then, tends to this,” said Edward. “I cannot bear this absolute dependence, sir, even upon you. Time has been lost and opportunity thrown away, but I am yet a young man, and may retrieve it. Will you give me the means of devoting such abilities and energies as I possess, to some worthy pursuit Will you let me try to make for myself an

and my expectations almost without a honourable path in life For any term

The Charles Dickens Edition: Barnaby Rudge a tale of the riots of …, Volume 4
By Charles Dickens
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kéifi£fll’lig Do”). 6 1″ could be—that she didn’t care for him—that he was wretched for life—and that the only congenial prospect left him, was to go for a soldier or a sailor, and get some obliging enemy to knock his brains out as soon as possible.

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JOE WILLET rode leisurely along in his desponding mood, picturing the locksmith’s daughter going down long country-dances, and poussetting dreadfully with bold strangers—which was almost too much to bear—when he heard the tramp of a horse’s feet behind him, and looking back, saw a well-mounted gentleman advancing at a smart canter. As this rider passed, he checked his steed, and called him of the Maypole by his name. Joe set spurs to the grey mare, and was at his side directly.

“ I thought it was you, sir,” he said, touching his hat. “ A fair evening, sir. Glad to see you out of doors again.”

The gentleman smiled and nodded. “What gay doings have been going on to-day, Joe? 15 she as pretty as ever? Na , don’t blush, man.”

“ If I coloured at all, Mr. Edward,” sai Joe, “ which I didn’t know I did, it was to think I should have been such a fool as ever to have any hope of her. She’s as far out of my reach as~as Heaven is.”

“ \Vell, Joe, I hope that’s not altogether beyond it,” said Edward, goodhumouredly. “ Eh P”

“ Ah!” sighed foe. “ It’s all very fine talking, sir. Proverbs are easily made in cold blood. But it can’t be helped. Are you bound for our house, sir P”

“ Yes. As I am not quite strong yet, I shall stay there to-night, and ride home coolly in the morning.”

“ If you’re in no particular hurry,” said Joe after a short silence, “ and will bear with the pace of this poor jade, I shall be glad to ride on with you to the \Varren, sir, and hold your horse when you dismount. It’ll save you having to walk from the Maypolc, there and back again. I can spare the time well, sir, for I am too soon.” ‘

“ And so am I,” returned Edward, “though I was unconsciously riding fast just now, in compliment I suppose to the pace of my thoughts, which were travelling post. \Ve will keep together, joe, willingl *, and be as good company as may be. And cheer up, cheer up, think of the locksmith’s daughter With a stout heart, and ou shall win her yet.”

Joe shook his head ; but there was something so cheery in the buoyant hopeful manner of this speech, that his spirits rose under its influence, and communicated as it would seem some new impulse even to the grey mare, who, breaking from her sober amble into a gentle trot, emulated the pace of Edward Chester’s horse, and appeared to flatter herself that he was doing his very best. _

It was a fine dry night, and the light of a young moon, which was then Just rising, shed around that peace and tranquillity which gives to evening time its most delicious charm. The lengthened shadows of the trees, softened as if reflected in still water, threw their carpet on the path the travellers pursued, and the light wind stirred yet more softly than before, as though it were soothing Nature in her sleep. By little and little they ceased talking, and rode on side by side in a

_leasant silence. “ The Maypole lights are brilliant to-night,” said Edward, as they rode along the lane from which, while the inteivening trees were bare of leaves, that hostelry was visible.

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“ Brilliant indeed, sir,” returned J’oe, rising in his stirrups to get a better view. “ Lights in the large room, and a fire glimmering in the best bed-chamber? \Vhy, what company can this be for, I wonder ! ”

“ Some benighted horseman wending towards London, and deterred from going on to-night by the marvellous tales of myfriend the highwayman, I suppose,” said Edward.

“ He must be a horseman of good quality to haVe such accommodations. Your bed too, sir— l”

“ No matter, Joe. Any other room will do for me. But come—there’s nine striking. We may push on.” ‘

They cantered forward at as’ brisk a pace as Joe’s charger could attain, and presently stopped in the little copse where he had left her in the morning. Edward dismounted, gave his bridle to his companion, and walked with a light step towards the house.

A female servant was waiting at a side gate in the garden-wall, and admitted him without delay. He hurried along the terrace-walk, and darted up a flight of broad steps leading into an old and gloomy hall, whose walls were ornamented with rusty suits of armour, antlers, weapons of the chase, and such-like garniture. Here he paused, but not long ; for as he looked round, as if expecting the attendant to have followed, and wondering she had ,not done so, a lovely girl appeared, whose dark hair next moment rested on his breast. Almost at the same instant a heavy hand was laid upon her 21m, Edward felt himself thrust away, and Mr. Haredale stood between them. ‘\ .

He regarded the young man stemly without removing his hat; with one hand clasped his niece, and with the other, in which he held his riding-whip, motioned him towards the door. The young man drew himself up, and returned his gaze.

“This is well done of you, sir, to con’u t my servants, and enter my house unbidden and in secret, like a thief!” saig Mr. Haredale. “Leave it, sir, and return no more.”

“ Miss I-Iaredale‘s presence,” returned the young man, “ and your relationship to her, give you a license which, if you are a brave man, you will not abuse. You have compelled me to this course, and the fault is yours—not mine.”

“ It is neither generous, nor honourable, nor the act of a true man, sir,”retorted the other, “to tamper with the affections of a weak, trusting girl, while you shrink, in your unworthiness, from her guardian and protector, and dare not meet the light of day. More than this I will not say to you, save that I forbid you this house, and require you to be gone.”

“ It is neither generous. nor honourable, nor the act of a true man to play the spy,” said Edward. “ Your words imply dishonour, and I reject them with the scorn they merit.”

“ You will find,” said Mr. Harcdale, calmly, “ your trusty go-between in waiting at the gate by which you entered. I have played no spy’s pan, sir. I chanced to see you pass the gate, and followed. You might have heard me knocking for admission, had you been less swift of foot, or lingered in the garden. Please to withdraw. Your presence here is offensive to me and distressful to my niece.” As he said these words, he passed his arm about the waist of the terrified and weeping girl, and drew her closer to him ; and though the habitual severity of his manner was scarcely changed, there was yet apparent in the action an air of kindness and sympathy for her distress.

“Mr. Haredale,” said Edward, “your arm encircles her on whom I have set my every hope and thought, and to purchase one minute’s happiness for whom I

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would gladly lay down my life; this house is the casket that holds the precious jewel of my existence. Your niece has plighted her faith to me, and I have plighted mine to her. \Vhat have I done that you should hold me in this light esteem, and give me these discourteous words P”

“You have done that, sir,” answered Mr. Haredale, “ which must be undone. You have tied a lover’s-knot here which must be cut asunder. Take good heed of what I say. Must. I cancel the bond between ye. I reject you, and allot your kith and kin—all the false, hollow, heartless stock.”

“ High words, sir,” said Edward, scornfully.

“ \Vords of purpose and meaning, as you will find,” replied the other. “ Lay them to heart.”

” Lay you then, these,” said Edward. “Your cold and sullen temper, which chills every breast about you, which turns affection into fear, and changes duty into dread, has forced us on this secret course, repugnant to our nature and our wish, and far more foreign, sir, to us than you. I am not a false, a hollow, or a heartless man ; the character is yours, who poorly venture on these injurious terms, against the truth, and under the shelter whereof I reminded you just now. You shall not cancel the bond between us. I will not abandon this pursuit. I rely upon your niece’s truth and honour, and set your influence at nought. I leave her with a confidence in her pure faith, which you will never weaken, and with no concern but that I do not leave her in some gentler care.”

\Vith that, he pressed her cold hand to his lips, and once more encountering and returning Mr. Haredale’s steady look, withdrew.

A few words to Joe as he mounted his horse sufficiently explained what had passed, and renewed all that young gentleman’s despondency with tenfold aggravation. They rode back to the Maypole without exchanging a syllable, and arrived at the door with heavy hearts.

Old John, who had peeped from behind the red curtain as they rode up shouting for Hugh, was out directly, and said with great importance as he held the young man’s stirrup,

“ He’s comfortable in bed—the best bed. A thorough gentleman; the smilingest, affablest gentleman I ever had to do with.”

“ \Vho, \Villet ?” said Edward carelessly, as he dismounted.

“ Your worthy father, sir,” replied John. “ Your honourable, venerable father ?”

“ What does he mean P” said Edward, looking with a mixture of alarm and doubt, at Joe.

“ \Vhat do you mean P” said Joe. “ Don’t you see Mr. Edward doesn’t understand, father P”

“ Why, didn‘t you know of it, sir P” said John, opening his eyes wide. “ How very singular! Bless you, he’s been here ever since noon to-day, and Mr. Haredale has been having a long talk with him, and hasn’t been gone an hour.”

“ My father, Willet ! ”

“ Yes, sir, he told me so—a handsome, slim, upright gentleman, in green-andgold. In your old room up yonder, sir. No doubt you can go in, sir,” said John, walking backwards into the road and looking up at the window. “ He hasn’t put out his candles yet, I see.”

Edward glanced at the window also, and hastily murmuring that he had changed his mind—forgotten something—and must return to London, mounted his horse again and rode away; leaving the \Villets, father and son, looking at each other in mute astonishment.

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AT noon next day, john Willet’s guest sat lingering over his breakfast in his own home, surrounded by a variety of comforts, which left the Maypole’s highest flight _ and utmost stretch of accommodation at an infinite distance be ind, and suggested comparisons very much to the disadvantage and disfavour of that venerable tavern.

In the broad old-fashioned window-seat—as capacious as many modern sofas, and cushioned to serve the purpose of a luxurious settee—in the broad oldfashioned window-seat of a roomy chamber, Mr. Chester lounged, very much at his case, over a well-furnished breakfast-table. He had exchanged his riding-coat for a handsome morning-gown, his boots for slippers ; had been at great pains to atone for the having been obliged to make his toilet when he rose without the aid of dressing-case and tiring equipage; and, having gradually forgotten through these means the discomforts of an indifferent night and an early ride, was in a state of perfect complacency, indolence, and satisfaction.

The situation in which he found himself, indeed, was particularly favourable to the growth of these feelings ; for, not to mention the lazy influence of a late and lonely breakfast, with the additional sedative of a newspaper, there was an air of repose about his place of residence peculiar to itself, and which hangs about it, even in these times, when it is more bustling and busy than it was in days of yore.

There are, still, worse places than the Temple, on a sultry day, for basking in the sun, or resting idly in the shade. There is yet a drowsiness in its courts, and a dreamy dulness in its trees and gardens ; those who pace its lanes and squares may yet hear the echoes of their footsteps on the sounding stones, and read upon its gates, in passing from the tumult of the Strand or Fleet Street, “Who enters here leaves noise behind.” There is still the plash of falling water in fair Fountain Court, and there are yet nooks and corners where dun-haunted students may look down from their dusty garrets, on a vagrant ray of sunlight patching the shade of the tall houses, and seldom troubled to reflect a‘ passing stranger’s form. There is yet, in the Temple, something of a clerkly monkish atmosphere, which public offices of law have not disturbed, and even legal firms have failed to scare away. In summer time, its pumps suggest to thirsty idlers, springs cooler, and more sparkling, and deeper than other wells; and as they trace the spillings of full pitchers on the heated ground, they snuff the freshness, and, sighing, cast sad look; towards the Thames, and think of baths and boats, and saunter on, despon ent.

It was in a room in Paper Buildings—a row of goodly tenements, shaded in front by ancient trees, and looking, at the back, upon the Temple Gardens—that this, our idler, lounged ; now taking up again the paper he had laid down a hundred times ; now trifling with the fragments of his meal; now pulling forth his golden toothpick, and glancing leisurely about the room, or out at window into the trim garden walks, where a few early loiterers were already pacing to and fro. Here a pair of lovers met to quarrel and make up ; there a dark-eyed nursery-maid d better eyes for Templars than her charge ; on this hand an ancient spinster, her lapdog in a string, regarded both enormities with scornful sidelong looks ; on that a weazen old gentleman, ogling the nursery-maid, looked with like scorn” upon the spinster, and wondered she didn’t know she was no longer young. Apart from all these, on the river’s margin two or three couple of business-talkers l walked slowly up and down in earnest conversation; and one young man sat ‘ thoughtfully on a bench, alone.

“Ned is amazingly patient!” said Mr. Chester, glancing at this last-named

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person as he set down his tea-cup and plied the golden toothpick, “immensely patient! He was sitting yonder when I began to dress, and has scarcely changed his posture since. A most eccentric dog ! ” _ I

As he spoke, the figure rose, and came towards him With a rapid pace.

“ Really, as if he had heard me,” said the father, resuming his newspaper with a yawn. “ Dear Ned!” I _

Presently the room-door opened, and the young man entered; to whom his father gently waved his hand, and smiled.

“ Are you at leisure for a little conversation, sir ? ” said Edward.

“ Surely, Ned. I am always at leisure. You know my constitution.—Have you breakfasted P”

“ Three hours ago.”

“What a very early dog !” cried his father, contemplating him from behind the toothpick, with a languid smile.

“The truth is,” said Edward, bringing a chair forward, and seating himself near the table, “ that I slept but ill last night, and was glad to rise. The cause of my uneasiness cannot but be known to you, sir; and it is upon that I wish to s eak.” ”

p“ My dear boy,” returned his father, “confide in me, I beg. But; you know my constitution—don’t be prosy, Ned.”

“ I will be plain, and brief,” said Edward.

“Don‘t say you will, my good fellow,” returned his father, crossing his legs, “ or you certainly will not. You are going to tell me”

“ Plainly this, then,” said the son, with an air of great concern, “ that I know where you were last night—from being on the spot, indeed—and whom you saw, and what your purpose was.” ,I

“ You don’t say so ! ” cried his father. “I am delighted to hear it. It saves us the worry, and terrible wear and tear of a long explanation, and is a great relief for both. At the very house ! Why didn’t you come up P I should have been charmed to see you.” ‘

“I knew that what I had to say would be better said after a night’s reflection, when both of us were cool,” returned the son.

“ ’Fore Gad, Ned,” rejoined the father, “ I was cool enough last night. That detestable Maypole ! By some infernal contrivance of the builder, it holds the wind, and keeps it fresh. You remember the sharp east wind that blew so hard five weeks ago? I give you my honour it was rampant in that old house last night, though out of doors there was a dead calm. But you were saying”

“ I was about to say, Heaven knows how seriously and earnestly, that you have made me wretched, sir. \Vill you hear me gravely for a moment?”

“My dear Ned,” said his father, “I will hear you with the patience of an anchorite. Oblige me with the milk.”

“ I saw Miss Haredale last night,” Edward resumed, when he had complied with this request ; “ her uncle, in her presence, immediately after your interview, and, as of course I know, in consequence of it, forbade me the house, and, with

gnstances of indignity which are of your creation I am sure, commanded me

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ve it on the instant.” _, “ or his manner of doing so, I give you my honour, Ned, I am not accountable,” said his father. “ That you must excuse. He is a mere boor, a log, a lirute, with no address in 1ife.–Positively a fly in the jug._ The first I have seen t llS year.

Edward rose, and paced the room. His iinperturbable parent sipped his tea.

“ Father,” said the young man, stopping at length before him, “ we must not trifle in this matter. \Ve must not deceive each other. or ourselves, Let me

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temper at that earlier period of my life, from insinuating the question how a man of so delicate a refinement, and so happy a turn for innocent poems in the style of “ Gentil Bernard,” could ever have been led away into a participation of what I mildly termed “the excesses of the Revolution.”

“ Ah,” quoth this velvet-pawed tiger, “ que voulez-vous ?— I always obey my heart ! I sympathiselvitli‘whatever goes on before me. Am 1 today with people who’WA-Zzas les Wm me nlmz/te la téte ! pa m’échmlfe le sang / * Icry out with them, ‘ A has les aristocrates! ’ Am I tomorrow with people who cry ‘ A has la guillotine! ’—eh bien I my eyes moisten ; I embrace my enemies—I sob out, ‘A bus la guillotine ! ’ MW of my nature. Ah, if you .hadknomMgnsieur RobespierreT”\~”

“ Hem ! ” said I ; “ thatisafiqhonour I should not have coveted if I had lived in his day. But I have hitherto supposed that Monsieur Robespierre was somewhat unsocial, reserved, frigid 3 was he, nevertheless, a man whose sins against his kind are to be imputed to thediveliness of his sym athies? ”

“”‘ 1r, pardon me if I say that you would not have asked that question if you had studied the causes of his ascendancy, or read with due attention his speeches. How can you suppose that a man not eloquent, as compared with his contemporaries, could have mastered his audience, except by Wthising with them? When they were for blood, he sympathised with them ; when they began to desire the reign of blood to cease, he sympathised also. In his desk were found David’s plans of academics for infancy and asylums for age. He was just about to inaugurate the Reign of Love, when the conspiracy against him swept him down the closing abyss of the Reign of Terror. He was only a day too late in expressing his sympathy with the change in the public mind. Can you suppose that he who, though ambitious, threw up his profession rather than subscribe to the punishment of death—he whose favourite author was Jean Jacques, ‘ le plus almant ales hommes ’ 1‘— that he had any inherent propensity__to_qr_u\elty? N0! Cruelty had become thespirit of the time, with which the

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impressionability of his nervous temperament compelled him to sympathise. And if he were a sterner exterminator than others, it was not because he was more cruel than they, but more exposed to danger. And as he identified himself with his country, so self-preservation was in his mind the rigorous duty of a patriot. Wherever you had placed him, Monsieur Robespierre would always have been the man of his day. If he had been an Englishman, sir, he would have been at the head of all the philanthropical societies— come in for a large constituency on philanthropieal principles -—and been the most respectable, as he was always the most incorruptible, of public men. ‘ Ge pauvre llI. Robespierre/ comme il est me’comml’ * If he had but lived a month or two longer, he would have revived the age of gold! ”

Certainly, during that excitable epoch, tenderness of sentiment and atrocity ofucgnduct were not combined’i’n “ ce pmwre M. Robespierre ” allifi‘élw‘l‘he favourite amusement of one of the deadliest of his fellow-murderers was the rearing of doves. He said that the contemplation of their innocence made the charm of his existence, in consoling him for the wickedness of men. Couthon, at the commencement of the Revolution, was looked upon as the mildest creature to be found out of a pastoral. He had a figure d’ange, heavenly with compassionate tenderness. Even when he had attained to the height of his homicidal celebrity, he was carried to the National Assembly or the Jacobite Club (I say carried, for, though young, he had lost the use of his limbs) fondling little lapdogs, which he nestled in his bosom. An anecdote is told of one of his confréres, who was as fatal to men and as loving to dogs as himself, that when a distracted wife, who had pleaded to him in vain for her husband’s life, in retiring from his presence, chanced to tread on his favourite spaniel’s tail, he exclaimed, “Good heavens, madame! have you then no humanity? ”

In these instances of tenderness for brutes we see the operation of that sympathy which, being diverted from men, still must have a vent, and lavishes itself on the inferior races, to whom its sentimental possessor shows all kindness, because from them he apprehends no mischief. We need not, however, resort to the annals of the French

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Revolution for examples of this warped direction of pity or affection. Every day we see venerable spinsters who

, delight in the moral murder of scandal, and guillotine a “reputation between every cup of tea, y‘et’full of’b’eniguant

charities to parrots, or dogs, or cats, or monkeys. Those venerable spinsters were, no doubt, once fond-hearted little girls, and, while in their teens, were as much shocked at the idea of assassinating the character of pretty women, and poisoning the honour of unsuscepting hearths, as they are now at the barbarity of pinching Fidcle’s delicate paw, or singeing Tabitha’s inofiensive whiskers.

There is, thenJ_a_kind of morbid sensibility which is not affectatien—nor_hypocrisym 0 teemed, but is as perfectly genuine’as any other symptom of irri ble nerves, and is wholly distinct from healthful goodness of heart; and this kind of sensibility is often united with a temperament that is impressionable, through the nerves, to the influences immediately and sensuously brought to bear on it, and is so far sympathetic ; but from that very impres_ sionability is easily subjected to morbid or even criminal misdirections; for, as Adam Smith‘has very well argued in his ‘ Theory of Moral Sentiments ’—“ Sympathy, though its meaning was, perhaps, originally the same as pity or compassion, is a word that may now Without much impropriety be made use of to denote our fellow-feeling with any passion whatever.” And the reader will have observed that it is in that sense that I employ the word. A person thus nervously impressionable may, from the very intensity of his regard for himself, easily transport his fancy to the situation of others, so long as he can picture himself in those situations, or so long as they appear to affect his comfort or safety. And what with the impressionability, what with the fancy, what with the self-regard, he will be peculiarly susceptible to fear, and fear will render him peculiarly prone to cruelty. Yet, with all that evinces hardness of heart, he may retain to the last a certain softness and sensibility of nerves——weep like the tyrant of Pheraea at the sorrow in a play, fondle lapdogs like Couthon ——in short, while the masculine attributes of humanity seem obliterated, we shall find him human through a morbidity of sentiment which belongs to the humanity of Women.

Still, though this impressionable organisation is not therefore necessarily an index of goodness, it is much more frequent in the good than in the bad. I have hitherto glanced only at its diseased conditions. In its healthful development and action it imparts to virtue that exquisite tenderness which distinguishes the archetype of beautified humanity from that artificial mechanism by which the stoic sought to fashion forth a compassionless, emotionless, ethical machine.

When the beneficent man seems to feel not only for but wgfllmeatnmbenefitgrenters-Mhisheart, s eals awaythepride that might otherwise reject a charity, whispers hope to the grief that might otherwise despair of comfort, makes himself one with his brother man, through sympathy, before soaring aloft from him as the dispenser of favours through a principle of the duty which the prosperous owe to the afliicted—then Virtue indeed seems clad in the alluring beauty which Plato says she would take in the eyes of man, could her image be rendered visible.

Beneficence in itself is godlike 3 but beneficence alone is but a godlike statue—an efiigies embodying a divine idea, but an effigies in marble. Add to beneficence sympathy, and the statue takes bloom and life. Nor in beneficence alone has sympathy its heavenly charm. In the equal commerce of life the benefactor is needed seldom, the sympathiser is longed for always. Be our joy but in a momentary sunbeam, be our sadness but the gloom of a passing cloud, how that sunbeam lights up the whole landscape when refiected in the sympathiser’s smile, and how the cloud, when its shadow falls on the sympathiser’s brow, “turns forth its silver lining on the night! ” Happy, thrice happy he who has secured to his life one who feels as if living in it! And perhaps this is not an uncommon lot, except to uncommon natures. Did Shakespeare and Milton find hearts that understood the mysterious depths mam well enough to sympathise? If so, it does not appear in their scant, Mfor such knowledge perhaps) their sufiicing biographies. But Shakespeares and Miltons are as medals, by which Nature celebrates her most signal triumphs, and of which she coins no duplicates. Doubtless there are millions of excellent Browns and Smiths who may find second selves in other Browns and other Smiths. Goethe, speaking of himself says, with that manly yet somewhat mournful self-dependence which forms one of his most impressive characteristics, “ To desire that_ others should sympathise with usisagreat folly. I never desired any such thing. I always considered man, in his individual 7 capacity, a being to be inquired into and observed in all his peculiarities, but I certainly did not expect any sympathy.” Folly or not the desire of sympathy may be, but perhaps it is the desire strongesf’afi‘dnnost common in youthful Their ideal of love is indeed, for the most part, {shaped and coloured by their craving for that sympathy which they imagine the beloved one alone can give. Yet certainly Goethe, speaking as Goethe, is right. No one has a right to expect sympathy for himself as poet, as author, or artist; for, in that capacity, his life is in a world of his own, with which no other is familiar—into which no other can find a home. In that world there goes on a perpetual movement—a rapid succession of scenes and images, of incidents and events, of which he is as sole a spectator, as if to him alone were vouchsafed the vision of all that inhabit and interest the star which was ascendant at his birth, and influences the structure of his mind and the mysteries of his fate.

But no one is all poethauthor, artist; every demigod of genius has also his side as man. And as man, though not as poet, anthor,rartist, he may reasonably yearn for sympathy. Such a sympathy, so restricted, will probably not be denied to him. It has been said that the wife of Racine had so little participation in the artistic life of her spouse, that she had never even read his plays. But as Racine was tenderly attached to her, and of a nature too sensitive not to have needed some sort of sympathy in those to whom he attached himself, and as, by all accounts, his marriage was a very happy one, so it is fair‘ to presume that the sympathy withheld from his artistic life was maintained in the familiar domestic everyday relationship of his positive existence, and that he did not ask the heart of Madame Racine to beat in unison with his own over the growing beauties of those children whom she was not needed to bring into the world. Why ask her to shed a mother’s tears over the fate of Britannicus, or recoil with a mother’s horror from the guilt of Phédre f—they were no offspring of hers. Men of action have, however, this decided advantage over men of letters and contemplation,

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How many eulogized monkeys, parrots, and lapdogs have I seen turn ingrates at the moment of enhanced expectation— the lazy, capricious brute, discrediting its mistress’s veracity, or provoking an exposure of temper it were always wise to …
Victorians and Their Animals: Beast on a Leash
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of Woman, that women often paid more attention to their lapdogs than they did their children.11 Laura Brown’s analysis of … apparent (to Flegel 2015) when so many spinsters and widows coddled their lapdogs as if they were children (10).
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the one who’d first thought of making Miss Martingale the object of tattle, he reminded himself. Mayhap it was time he was taking charge of things, instead of playing the obedient lapdog. “Then I take leave to tell you I do not take well to threats.
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“I’m actually only here today because Erik had lapdog duties.” “Erik sent you?” “The pretty blond that just threw you in here.” “I know who he is, and he is pretty, but why send you now?” “It’s my job to keep the Spinsters happy and fed, so pretty …
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Venerable spinsters relish the spitefulness and loquacity of parrots, and admire a gaudiness of plumage according with … and the man of the ring, the brisk terrier and the London gamin, the peevish lapdog and the listless woman of fashion.
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l There is a curious likeness between certain social ‘ gamin, the peevish lapdog and the listless woman ‘ 4 l i I Twice I myself … Venerable spinsters relish the spitefulness and loquacity of parrots, and admire a gaudiness of plumage according …
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SPINSTERS. AND. MOTHERS. CELIA Burleigh, one of the most talented and finished writers and lecturers of the da;, and … or a lapdog, but which is enough to drive any women, with an active mind and a healthy body, into a lunatic asylum.
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William Robertson (of Rochdale.) – 1889 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
A lady (evidently a spinster) was one of his fellow-passengers on board. She made a particular fuss and manifested a great deal of anxiety about her lapdog, which was nursed with a motherly care, and which received from her the most lavish …
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THE

SPINSTER’s JOURNAL.

•ereeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer-reveree-4,
– – –

..}/Ayr 13–My young companion will, to a certainty, effect an entire revolution in my habits; and what is strange, I find the utmost pleasure in accommodating myself to her wishes. This is no trivial trait of suavity in a spinster of my standing. I believe I had blushed on reperusing the compliments of Burleigh, as recorded in my yesterday’s diary. I now think they must be applicable in a degree, so they shall stand. It may be, that in my previous pursuits after happiness, I have found so little to VOL. III. .B.

flatter my judgment as a projector, that my present tractability will appear only a new approach to this desired goal. But what an approach l ah, my dear fellow-martyrs’ do me justice if this is really the fact; consider my plan, and ask yourselves if there is not something more flattering to the heart and the understanding, in being won to the practice of social habits by an intelligent fellow-creature, than wasting one’s hours in cheerless ruminations, or lavishing the affections on those dumb tyrants, which are, in truth, Our masters. How many eulogized monkeys, parrots, and lapdogs have I seen turn ingrates at the moment of enhanced expectation— the lazy, capricious brute, discrediting its mistress’s veracity, or provoking an exposure of temper it were always wise to conceal! I do not deny that a RATIONAL retainer may not offer similar opportunities for displaying the powers of her patroness. This is possible, but not very common. The

compacts between parties thus situated are so purely worldly, the power of the EMPLOYER is so effectually guaranteed by the servility of the EMPLOYED, that a domestic fracas is rarely to be dreaded. Thank Heaven, I have excluded this exhilarating chance from my system of patronage! My companion, from being independent, need not stoop to any infirmities of temper I may be so unfortunate as to exhibit. We MAY separate, and the world, with its usual regard to circum- * stances, may denounce her, while it deplores the misplaced generosity of your humble servant. But entre nous, pity is not the incense best adapted to woman’s feelings; and though it is sometimes accepted graciously, and as a matter of right, I am convinced there is a silent monitor within, that often invalidates the collective testimony 6f adulation, come under what form it will. Each new exposure of our temporal poverty sinks us in our own esteem. Then is it possible to believe THAT poverty of

spirit which inculcates injustice, engenders pride, and makes us the slaves of temper, ean be quieted, soothed by external quackery? I deny it, and for this simple reason, that with all our seeming reliance on the “ outward ornaments” of character, no human being was ever satisfied with himself unless he carried in his bosom “that peace which the world cannot give.” But I was speaking of the gentle influence my young friend has already acquired over my almost-unconscious habits. She saw me regularly turn to my writing-table after perusing the newspaper. , “This is a very injurious custom, my dear Miss Singleton,” said she. “I know ladies in your station of life must have frequent occasion for writing, but would your applying yourself to this position an hour later prove inconvenient?” “I believe not, my dear,” said I; “but you have yet to learn that I cannot sit idle, Celina, and until I have given my orders for the day, it is useless to take up a book.”

“I should like to rob you of this hour daily,” smiled my reasonable little friend; “suppose we were to make it a rule to walk in the park for an hour when the weather will permit.” I instantly assented, self-convinced that the plan was judicious, and only overlooked because there had been no one sufficiently interested in my welfare to lead me to the exertion. I now find myself equipped for my rambles as it were by magic. Celina throws my scarf over my shoulders, chooses the bonnet I shall wear, and, as Ilean on her arm, listening to her cheerful sallies, I feel every disposition to forgive those weaknesses in the parental character I have occasionally condemned. Distinct as the matron and the spinster’s feelings are supposed to be, I scarcely think there is a mother whose heart glows with a more chastened pride than mine does, as I see this amiable young creature sedulously endeavouring to increase my happiness, without forfeiting her own re

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erne to my thought a new and deeper meaning in tiie text than I had ever perceived.

“Christ is the living vine,” the preacher said, learning forward again, and resting his arm on the ynlpit as before. “He called the wine of the Passover, which lie drank with His disciples, His blood, and said unto them, ‘Drink ye all of it.’ And in another place, ‘Except ye eat the flesh of the Son of Man, and drink His blood, ye have no life in you/ 1 fear the brother, of whom I spoke Just now, did not understand how it is that the blood of Christ cleanses from sin. I think he had some vague idea of external washing, instead of inward purification. The blood symbolised by wine must be drank, and go into the spiritual circulation, and, with the body of the Lord that is eaten, oroate a new man under the process of spiritual assimilation.

“The remarkable vine-symbol of our text in in perfect harmony with this symbol of our Lord’s body and blood that must be taken as spiritual food and drink. Wo must be engrafted into the living vine. ‘I am the vine, ye are the branches.’ Now, in what relation does a branch stand to a vine? In that of a recipient of life. If the Lord be as a vine, and we the branches, then the Lord’s life most flow into our souls, as the life of the vine flows into its branches. If we eat and drink, spiritually, the Lord’s body and blood, then we grow into His likeness and image through the reception of divine food— become new creatures—He in us and we in Him. And it is the same if we are engrafted onto the Living Vine. In these two beautiful symbols, so full ut divine meanings, like things are signified.

“I will not dwell upon this. I am sure its force and significance are clear to every one now under the sound of my voice. Its practical bearing on each of us is the solemn consideration of the hour. “Are you, my brother, my sister, a branch of the Living Vine, organically united and receiving life from the Vine?—or, only adjoined, holding on by external filament and bandings, and drawing your life as of old from the world? If the Lord’s life be in you, through a perfect union, it will be a pure, a loving, a sweet life of charity. You will be more concerned about others than yourself; aud the spiritual interest of all mankind will lie near your heart, as they are ever near to the Lord in whom you live and move and have your being; and the fruit you bear will be good deeds; not constrained, not to be seen of men, not from duty even, but from love.

“There aro three kinds of union with this Vine— ecternal only, partial, and perfect. I have already referred to the first and last. Let me dwell for a few moments on the other, for I think we, as professing Christians, are most concerned here. The partial union is that in which a few fibres of the soul have made a connection with the Vine, while it itill draws its chief nutrition from the old unre

generate source. By means of these fibres, the life of the Vine flows in but feebly and inadequately, causing the branch to blossom, it may be, and give promise of fruit. And now it is that the old life and the new life meet in momentous conflict; the new trying to subdue the old, and make the wild branch now grafted upon the Living Vine bear heavenly fruit. Alas for you! alas for me! if the old life prevail, and the branch remain barren. If it bear not fruit, it will be ‘taken away,’ ‘cast forth,’ ‘burned!’ No faith in a risen Saviour; no trust in the redeeming blood; no reliance on a heart-change dating from a wellremembered hour, will, avail us anything, if, for lack of fruit, we are severed from the Vine! If the Lord’s life be not in us, we are none of his; and his life is not a selfish life, but a lifo of love, perpetually going out of himself and seeking to bless all living things.”

I can give but feebly the force of that sermon. All the power of the preacher’s voice and manner is lost in my weak transfer of a part of the discourse. The people went out, at its close, with thoughtful faces, silent, or speaking to e*ch other in subduod voices. He had struck a key that rang out to many a note of warning — startling them from a pleasant dream of false security.

I called in the evening to see a friend, the member of the ehurch to whom I referred in the beginning, and found him much disturbed in mind. He was alone in his parlor, walking the floor, when I entered.

“I saw you at church this morning,” he said, almost abruptly, after a few words of greeting.

“Yes, I was there.”

“What did you think of the sermon?”

“The preacher gave us true doctrine,” I answered.

The light went out of his face.

“Then,” he said, in a solemn, half-frightened way, “I have been building my house on sand! The hope that was in me has died. The Saviour in whom I trusted has hid himself from me, and I am of all men most miserable. I called myself an heir of God, and joint heir with Jesus Christ; but this doctrine of an organic union with the Living Vine, and a new lifo therefrom, shows mo that I am still an alien, and not a son. Looking down Into my heart, as I have looked to-day, and in all honesty to myself reading its feelings and purposes, scanning its ruling ends of life, I find that I love myself more than I love my neighbor. I find that I am not a new man in Christ Jesus our Lord, but, nnder all my professions and outward observances of religious duties, unchanged in my love for the things of this world, and as eager in their pursuit from selfish ends as I ever was. Ah, my friend! this is a sad discovery for one to make, after resting for twenty years, as I have done, in the vain belief that I had washed my robes and made them white in the blood of the L«tmb.”

“You write bitter things against yourself,” I answered.

“Not so. The Lord has given me a revelation of myself—has opened a window through which I cam look into my heart and see its unchanged condition. And at the same time he has made the fact that I am not drawing my life from Him as the Living Vine clear as the sun at noonday. Can I ever forget these words of the preacher, that smote upon my heart like a sentence of condemnation from Heaven: ‘If the Lord’s life be in you through a perfect union, it will be a pure, a loving, a sweet life of charity. You will be more concerned about others than yourself; and the spiritual interests of all mankind will be near your heart, as they are ever noar to the Lord, in whom ye lire and move and have your being; and the fruit you bear will be good deeds, not constrained nor to be seen of men, nor from duty even, but from love.’ Not so am I conjoined to the Lord, bnt only adjoined, as a branch newly grafted, and not yet in union with the vine and drawing its life therefrom.

“‘ I am the vine/ he went on. ‘Ye are the branches. He that nbideth in me and I in him the same bringeth forth much fruit; for without me ye can do nothing. If a man abide not in me he is cast forth as, a branch and is withered.’ Hundreds of times have I read these sentences, but never saw their meaning until now. If I am tfuly engrafted onto the living Vine a new and heavenly life will pervade my whole being. I will be changed as to my inmost desire, and the fruit I bear will be the fruit of justice, for the Lord is just, and of mercy, for he is merciful.”

He paused and walked the room again, his manner still greatly disturbed.

“Are you not a just and a merciful man?” I asked.

“No !” he answered, almost passionately, turning upon mo a faco so full of pain and self-accusation that I was moved at his state of mind.

“No !” he repeated. “I have been all over it since I heard that sermon. Just! Why, sir, only yesterday I sold a customer an article at a fair living profit, as the phrase is, and cheated him in the transaction.”

He looked stern and angry. “Yes, sir,” he added, “cheated him! I had blundered in buying the goods, and I let him, in his ignorance, repeat the blunder, and suffer the loss I should have borne. Was that just? Was it from tho Lord’s life in me, or from the old, selfish, unregenerate life that I did this? Merciful! A poor struggling tradesman, whom I had known whon wo were boys, ploaded with me last week to consider his oaso nnd abate in his favor a business custom of our house. But I answered, ‘No, John, I’m sorry for you, but there are no friendships in busi

ness.’ And he went away looking »o sad and disappointed that his face haunted me in sleep all the next night Would the Lord have so turned away from one of his poor, weak, pleading creatures? I think not.

“Ah, my friend,” he went on, his voice fallrag to a mournful strain, “if this were all. If only in these two instances I had failed in being just and merciful, my case would not show so bad si aspect But in the whole of my business and social life I see self and the world dominant, ami the Lord and the neighbor put down to a lower place. I seek justice and mercy for myself, but am little concerned how it fates with another. This daily life in the world, this conflict of interests, this buying and selling, and getting gainhere it is that we most look for the test of diwipleship i If we are Chsist’s, then the spirit of Christ will be in us, and we will be just in all otr dealings with men, as He is just, merciful as He is merciful, pure as He is pure. Religion will not be a thing kept for Sunday, nor worship the mere singing of hymns and saying of prayers. The very essence of- our religion will be a life squared by the Golden Rule, and our worship the sacrifice of selfish desires on the altar of daily use.”

Then, after a long pause, and with a deep inspiration, my friend said, with a solemnity I shall not soon forget:

“God helping me, I will seek for a true and more perfect union with the Living Vine. In the mere adjunction I am in perpetual danger of being cast off as unfruitful. I would have an organir union, that the Lord’s life may flow in perpetually, changing the old, mean, selfish life into a pure and generous and loving life.”

He grew calmer after this. Tho painful convictions and Btcrn judgments of himself, through which he had passed, closed in a deep and earnest resolution to seek for a truer union with the Lord as the Living Vine.

I have met him often since then. The words of the preacher fell upon good ground, and though be knows it not, they have brought forth a precious harvest. T- *•l’

ao^Co-c

TnE Bright Sins:.—Look on the bright sideIt is the right side. The times may be hard, hot it will make them no easier to wear a gloomy and sad countenance. It is the sunshine, and not the cloud, that makes the flower. The Bky is blue ten times where it is black once. You have trouble!, Bo have others. None are free from them. Troubles give sinew and tone to life—fortitude and oourage to man. That would be a dull sea, «J>d the sailor would never get skill, where there wai nothing to disturb tlfc surface of the ocean. V”* though things look a little dark? the lane will turn, and night will end in broad day. There”

) more virtue in ono sunbeam than a whole beffli-*

( phere of clouds and gloom.

BOYS’ AND GIELS’ TREASURY.

THAT PHEIAN BOY.

1IY MRS. C. E. K. DAVIS.

TADDT nu a Daughty boy that day. Not even grandma could make an excuse for him, though she dropped a great many stitches in the bright little stocking she was knitting, and was seen to wipe her spectacles over and over again, and all because she felt so badly about her naughty little grandson.

Well, perhaps I had better tell you the whole story.

Mrs. Ives—that was Taddy’s mother’s namo—sat sewing in the parlor, and it was such a fine day that the window was thrown open to let in the sweet breath of the apple blossoms in the orchard, and the English violets that grew by the front door. Grandma sat knitting in her easy chair, and Rose was painting a bunch of trailing arbutus, that looked so like the real flowers it seemed as though you could pick them up from their bed of soft green moss. It was so quiet in the room that they all heard what Taddy said, and saw what he did, though he neither heard nor saw them. Ue was sitting on the grass plot just in front of the parlor window, this little five-year-old Taddy, eatiDg buns, and singing to himself a song that he bad caught from his college brother Tom, and his mother, listening to the pleasant voice, thought within her heart My Taddy in a darling / when the gate opened, and Jimmy Pbelan came whistling up the walk, with his old straw bat perched on the back of his head. Jimmy was the fourth son of Mike Phelan, who worked in gentlemen’s gardens up and down the street.

“I wish that boy wouldn’t come here,” said Rose, glancing up from her painting, as she heard the click of the gate. “I shouldn’t think you would allow it, mother. Just hear Taddy call out,’ Hullo!’ He is getting so rude that I am really ashamed of him, and that Phelan boy is horrid!”

“Hullo !” said Jimmy, quite unconscious of the young lady’s criticism; and thrusting his hands into his trousers pockets, he stood facing Taddy and the open parlor window. He was a wretchedlooking Utile ragamuffin, there was no denying it, but then you could not wonder if you would only bear iu mind that there were eleven more at home as like him as the peas in the pod are like each other, to be fed and clothed; and the best that Mike and his wife could do, the feeding and clothing were of the poorest and scantiest kind. Indeed I suppose there was seldom a day that Jimmy’s stout little bread-basket was comfortably filled.

vol* xxxvin.—20.

“What is it ye’re eatin’, Taddy ?” asked Jimmy, after the salutations.

“Buns,” said Taddy, “with turrents in ’em!”

“Gi’ me a bite?”

Taddy shook his curly head. “I tan’L They’d make you awful sick!”

“I’ll risk it,” said Jimmy, holding out a very dirty hand. “Just one small, little bit, Taddy?”

“No, Jiiv /” answered Taddy, his month crammed full. “My mother puts pi ton in her buns, an’ if you eat just a tcenty tinty bit it’ll make you sick so you’se have to have the doctor, and take palegolic.”

“That’s a lie!” said Jimmy, stoutly. “Why don’t they make you sick, if they’re pizon?”

“Ob, tause—tause—tause I’m my mother’s boy, and—whit did you tome in here for, Jimmy Phelan? Nobody told you to, an’ I don’t want you, ‘n I wish you’d go off where you b’long!”

“I want something to eat,” said Jimmy.

“Then go ‘n ask your mother, way as I do.”

“She’s off a-washing, and there ain’t nothing in the cupboard, ’cause I looked;” and Jimmy sat down on the grass. “Just le’ me have one bite, Taddy.”

“No, I shall not! My mother don’t ‘low me to give buns to Paddies!”

“Theodore Ives, you naughty boy, come into the house this minute!” cried Rose, putting her head out of the window.

“No I sha’n’t,” answered Taddy composedly.

“Then I will come and fetch you,” said Rose.

“You tan’t do it,” rejoined Taddy, planting his heels in the grass, and throwing a defiant look over his shoulder.

“Just one mite of a piece,” coaxed Jimmy, in a whisper; “there’s such a splendid currant.”

“I won’t do it,” said Taddy, very red in the face, ” ‘nd if you don’t go off I’ll—I’ll—I’ll double up my fist to you, I will, just like that /” and I am ashamed to say that he hit Jimmy a blow on the side of his head that knocked off his old straw hat.

“Taddy, I want you!” It was Mrs. Ives that spoke this time, sorrowfully enough you may bo sure, and the little boy, hastily swallowing the last remaining bit of his last bun, got up reluctantly.

“What’ll she do to ye?” asked Jimmy, under his breath.

Taddy shook his head.

“Is it because ye boxed my ears, d’ye s’pose?”

“Yes; and I guess—I guess she heard me say pizon and Paddy I”

“That’s nothin’.”

“Yes it is; my mother don’t ‘low me to say wrong stories, and call names.”

(295)

Taddy came into the parlor hanging his head so low that the curls fell over hia face like a yellow veil. Rose looked at him, and said, severely : ” If you were my boy, I would punish you with a stick, Taddy Ives!”

Mamma did not speak, but held out her band to her naughty boy. Grandma almost always had an excuse ready fur bis little misdemeanors, but, loot in* askance through the veil of curls, Taddy saw ber kind face quite turned away from him, and not a single word did she speak in hia defence.

“Rose, tell Jimmy Phelan to go to the kitchen door, and ask Jane for pome dinner,” said Mrs. Ives. Then the took a white handkerchief out of her pocket and put it over Taddy’s mouth—that naughty mouth that had told lies and called names. Taddy stood quite atill while she tied the corners, but bis heWt beat very loud and fast, and tears gathered in his blue eyes. He bad never been punished like this before, and it aeerued the very worst punishment in the world. After the knot was tied, Mrs. Jves pointed to “Taddy’s naughty corner,” and thitber the little culprit went, and sat down on a cricket, with his face to the wall.

“That Phelan boy won’t go for bis dinner, mother; he says be wants to come in and speak to you.”

Before tbe words were out of her mouth, Jimmy Phelan had pushed past Rose, and thrust his un- I combed red head in at the parlor door.

It was a grand room compared with the old! smoky kitchen where the tribe of Phelan cooked, i ate, and slept. Jimmy had seldom seen a grander,! but that was nothing so long as poor Taddy sat ( sobbing in a corner of it. I

“If you plaze, mum,” he stuttered; “if you plaze—”

“What is it, my boy?”

“If you plaze, mum, I’d wish ye wouldn’t tie up his mouth with a ban’kerchy; be didn’t mean no harm, Taddy didn’t; and I’d just’s lieve he’d call me Paddy’s not!”

Now I call that noble and generous in Jimmy Phelan, who had never been taught either good manners or morals, and whose veins were full of hot Irish blood. But, in spite of his pleading, Taddy had to be punished as be deserved. Ho was kept in the corner until the tea-bell rung, and as soon as tea was over Margaret took him up stairs. When bis mamma went, as usual, to get a good-night kiss from her boy, she found him sitting up in bis bed, as penitent and disconsolate a speck of humanity as you ever saw.

“I’ve been a-tbinking, mother,” he said, with a pitiful sob, as she sat down beside him; “I’ve been a-thinking.”

“Of what, my child?”

“Why, s’posin’ if that Phelan boy was your boy, an’ I was Mike’s boy, how I’d like it if he

doubled up his fist to me, and—” Here was «nother sob.

“And what, Taddy?”

“And I’ve been a-tbinking what if your boj wouldn’t gi’ me just one little least speck of hw with turrents in ’em, and said they was piron, when they was smacking good, and called mt Pad—Pad—Pad-dy, I don’t b’lieve I’d ask you to take off tbe pot-han’ktsif off his mouth, not if he had it on twenty weeks’.”

“Then you are sorry that you were so unkind to Jimmy t”

“Yes, I am—honeat and true!” and the bite eyes looked straight up into mamma’s face.

“And whit about the wrong stories, Taddy V

“I told God all ’bout that ‘fore you came cp stairs; we’ve got it all settled, an’ I’m goin’ to give Jimmy Phelan my cent piece to buy somefh’ that’s lots better’n buns—TORPEDOES!” sii<i Taddy ducked bis head under the sheet with the biggest sob you ever heard.

So that was the way he made friends with Jimmy Phelan, and even sister Rose thought it good and sufficient proof of repentance, for it was tbe same as if Taddy bad given up all claim to Fourth of July.— Christian Union.

THE LITTLE KED ROSE.

BY GOETHE.

ABOT caught sight of a rose in a bower— A little rose, slyly hiding Among the boughs; oh ! the rose was bright And young, and it glimmered like morning light; The urchin sought it with baste; ’twas a flour A child, indeed, might take pride in— A little rose, little rose, little red ro.-c, Among the bushes hiding.

The wild boy shouted, ” I’ll pluck tbe rose, Little rose, vainly biding Among the boughs;” but tbe little rose spoke— “I’ll prick thee, and that will prove no joke; Unhurt, oh ! then I will mock tby woes, Whilst thou thy folly art chiding.” Little rose, little rose, little red rose, Among the bushes biding I

But the rude boy laid his hands on the flower, The little rose vainly hiding Among the boughs; oh! the rose was caught! Bnt it turned again, and prieked and fought, And left with its spoiler a smart from that boor, A pain forever abiding; Little rose, little rose, little red rose, Among the bushes hiding.

Search thine own heart. What paineth thee

In others in thyself may be;

All dust is frail, all flesh is wca’.;

Be thou the true man thou dost seek I *

THE HOME CIRCLE.

EDITED BY A LADY.

SPINSTERS AND MOTHERS.

CELIA Burleigh, one of the most talented and finished writers and lecturers of the da;, and one who never utlers a sentence unbecoming a true woman, has an excellent article in a recent number of the Woman’i Journal, bearing the title with which we head this article. We quote the following from it:

“In one of our large western cities lives an unmarried woman, who has adopted and filled the place of mother to more than twenty children, and in her care and training of them shown a selfsacrificing tenderness, a devotedness and wisdom, which no mother could have surpassed. To train children was her natural vocation; from childhood she had shown an aptitude for it, and attaining womanhood, this was the one strong desire of her heart. The brother, a successful business man, with whom she lived, had large means, and a life filled with varied interests. She had a handsome room in bis house, plenty of money for the gratification of her personal wants, and an aimless life. ‘I wish I were a man,’ she exclaimed impatiently, one day aa he was unfolding some new project that was sure to result in a golden harvest. ‘No, I don’t, either,’ she added; ‘but I wish I had a man’s opportunities for making money.’

“‘ Why, Mary,’ exclaimed her brother in a tone of grieved surprise,’ don’t you have all the money you want? I am sure I wish you to have.’

“He was one of those large-brained, active men, who, had he been doomed to a life of dependence and inaction, would have gone mad or committed suicide; and here was his sister, only a year or two younger than himself, sharing the same nature, and he was astonished that, being sumptuously housed and clothed, she was still unsatisfied.

“‘ No, Ilarry,’ she replied,’I don’t have all the money I want. I want enough to do a work in the world, and have something to live for, instead of having everything provided for me, and the days left so dark and empty that when I wake in the morning I wonder how I shall manage to exist till night. I am bored to death with an existence that is fit only for a canary bird or a lapdog, but which is enough to drive any women, with an active mind and a healthy body, into a lunatic asylum.’

“The brother was an exceptional man, for he neither laughed at her, nor asked her why she Hid not get married and have a bouse and children to occupy her; bat he asked the much more sensible question,’ What would you like to do T’

‘”I would like to have a large house and fill it with children who need a home, and be a mother

to them. That would interest me as much as great business enterprises do you.’

“The brother made no reply. He walked the length of the room and back again, went to the window, and with both hands thrust in his pockets as if he hoped to find at the bottom the solution of the difficulty, stood looking out. Suddenly his face brightened, he turned on his heel, and went briskly out of the house.

“• Well, Molly,’ he exclaimed gayly, as he met her at the tea-table, ‘ I have bought you a house, and you can begin to gather your flock of vagabonds as soon as you like! And it was no joke. His sister’s words had set him thinking. He had gone back to the time when, hardly more than children, they were thrown, a pair of penniless orphans, upon the world; of all she had been to him during those years when the conflict with fortune seemed so unequal, and more than once his heart failed him, and but for her lovo and trust he would have been ready to despair. Never during these years had she failed or doubted him, never added to his discouragement and weariness the weight of her own; and now that fortune bad smiled on him) and he had won success, now that his life was enriched by the love of wife and children, why should he not see to it that she, too, had the means of being happy in her own way? So the house Was bought and furnished, and a sum appropriated to meet its demands. One after another the rooms were filled with homeless waifs and the life of the lonely woman, before so purposeless and barren, blossomed with loving interest and beneficent cares. And what a family gathered about her—made up of all ages, from the week-old baby to the girl on the verge of womanhood; of all nationalities and every shade of color,, but harmonized and attuned by the strong will and loving heart of the genius of the home!

“‘Aunt Mary’ was not the slave of tradition, she had no inflexible thoeries about government. She managed one child this way, and another that. A self-satisfied, obstreperous boy was sent to the public school to find his level and learn subordiuation, while a shy, sensitive little fellow was sent to be cuddled and made much of at a little private school, kept by another spinster with a warm, motherly heart As the years went by some were fitted for college, and others apprenticed to learn trades ; some of the girls fitted themselves to be housekeepers and nurses, while others learned horticulture and telegraphy. To develop each one according to the bent of his genius, to find out what was in him, and make the most and’ best of his powers, this was the purpose kept steadily in view. The only two things that Miss Mary set her face resolutely against were sowing

Life and Times of the Right Hon. John Bright
By William Robertson (of Rochdale.)
About this book

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our illustrious countrymen who has not either first beheld the light within its walls, pursued his avocations within its circuit, or laid his bones to rest beneath its soil. Our statesmen, our most celebrated wits and scholars, our men of science, poets, and philanthropists, have almost all of them left some memory of their existence within the boundaries of the metropolis; indeed, Mr. Bright would rather become a resident of that city where Hampden and Pym defended the cause of the people, and where Russell bled, and where Milton warbled the rapturous soul of song and sovereign ecstasy, than be an inhabitant of the country in which Virgil sang and Brutus struck for liberty. As he gazed from a distance upon the sombre majesty of the atmosphere above the proud metropolis of Britain, through which he saw dimly, rearing themselves like shadowy giants, her thousand domes and spires, he could not but think how insignificant is man, lost amid the stupendous work of his own hands. A moment’s reflection must have given birth to the thought as to what are its riches or its beauty compared to the moral grandeur reaped through many an age of strife and turmoil and revolution. Her aspect was new to him. He was a stranger to her walls, but names which occurred to his mind recalled vividly the scenes of past history, which till then he had contemplated but in the lifeless pages of the historian.

When Mr. Bright was a young man and a bachelor he manifested a warm sympathy for Ireland. Her deplorable history, from savage barbarism and feudal outrages into the atmosphere of dawning civilisation, was to him a very attractive study. The annals of Ireland he even then considered were a disgrace not only to its natives but to human nature, for it had been cursed with savage chieftains and rebellious slaves, who had rendered her fields little less than the transcript of their crimes, and her history was the story of a people unable or unwilling to sway their own sceptre; and yet too froward or too proud to allow it in the hands of others. They were bad subjects and worse rebels, yet he thought the amelioration of their condition was possible by just legislation rather than by coercion. At this time amongst other Irishmen working at his father’s mill was one named Michael Cavannagh, who, after many years’ residence in Rochdale, wished to return to his native country to spend a few years with his relatives. During the last week of Michael’s sojourn in Rochdale he and one of his fellow-work men quarrelled, in the card-room of Greenbank Mill, whereupon he took off his clog, and when raising it in a striking attitude, accidentally struck two panes of glass behind him, which arrested

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the intended blow. Two shillings were entered against him to be deducted from his earnings, but Mr. John Bright was paying the wages when it came to Cavannagh’s turn to present himself, and upon learning the particulars of the affray, he pointed out to the Irishman the impropriety of resorting to brute force. The cost of replacing the panes of glass, however, was not deducted, and his week’s earnings were supplemented with an addition to assist him on his journey homeward. The usual benediction which Celts seem unable to withhold when they meet with some largehearted friend, was poured forth; but Michael’s was somewhat original and bordering on the prophetic. “Sir,-I wish you luck,” said Cavannagh; adding, “may you be king when I return again, and may marrow remain long in your shin bones.”

In April, 1833, Mr. John Bright and a number of his friends formed a society, to which they gave the name of ” The Rochdale Literary and Philosophical Society.” At the first meeting each member signed his name in the minute book; that of Mr. John Bright heads the list. The society became very popular, most of the gentlemen in the town joining it. The rules forbade the introduction of any doctrinal point in religion, or any local party polities for discussion at the meetings. The first meeting was presided over by Mr. John Bright. Mr. John Holgate was appointed secretary, Mr. John Grindrod treasurer, and “the council” for the remainder of the first year were Messrs. John Bright, William Mann, James Ecroyd, G. Craven, J. H. Sellers, R. T. Heape, Joseph Moore, George Morris, William Moore, and the Rev. G. Heaviside. For many years the meetings were held in the Rev. George Heaviside’s private schoolroom, which was situated in Baron Street, between Water Street and Kenion Street. The building is now occupied as a machinist’s shop. The meeting on the 12th of September was presided over by Mr. John Bright, when Mr. Morris lectured “On Optics,” and explained the properties of light, and in the presence of his audience dissected a human eye. At the meeting on the 26th of September Mr. Morris was in the chair, and Mr. John Holgate brought on for discussion, “Is a legal provision of subjects for dissection expedient?” Mr. John Bright took part in the discussion, and the meeting decided (only one voting against it) “That a legal provision of subjects is expedient if confined to the bodies bequeathed for dissection, subject to the relatives’ consent, and the bodies of the unclaimed poor who do not express a contrary wish previous to their decease; or, in other words, that the provision made by Government was and is expedient.” At the

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meeting on the 10th of October, Mr. G. Craven in the chair, Mr. John Bright brought forward as a subject for debate, “From our study of history, ancient and modern, what form of government appears the best suited to promote the happiness of mankind?” The discussion was long and spirited. At last Mr. John Bright submitted the following motion :—” That a limited monarchy is best suited for this country at the present time.” The debate, however, was adjourned to the meeting held on the 7th of November; the Rev. G. Heaviside was in the chair. After the subject was further discussed Mr. Bright’s motion was put to the meeting, when the votes in its favour numbered eighteen, and against it four. At the next meeting, November 2lst, presided over by Mr. J. Littlewood, Mr. Benjamin Heape introduced the subject, ” Whether painting, poetry, or music gives more enjoyment to mankind.”’ On a division being taken, one voted for painting, nine for poetry, and ten for music. At the meeting on January 26th, 1834, Mr. James Eeroyd in the chair, Mr. John Bright brought forward the subject, “Is Alfred or Alexander more entitled to the appellation of ‘The Great’?” He submitted as his opinion that Alexander did not earn, and therefore was not entitled to, and that Alfred did earn, and therefore had a just claim to, the appellation of Great. No one present dissented from Mr. Bright’s opinions, and the meeting unanimously decided in favour of Alfred. The next meeting, on the 18th of February, 1834, was presided over by Mr. O. Ormerod, and a lengthy discussion took place ” On the policy or impolicy of laws for the restriction of the importation of corn.” Mr. James Ecroyd moved and Mr. Norris seconded, “That laws for restricting the importation of grain are impolitic;” and those present at the meeting were unanimous in the opinion. On March 13th, 1834, Mr. John Holt in the chair, Mr. John Holgate introduced the question, “Is defensive war justifiable on Scriptural grounds?” Making in his remarks a quotation of a doctrinal kind from Scripture, he thus violated a rule of the society; and consequently Mr. John Ormerod submitted a motion, “That the debate on that subject be discontinued.” Mr. Thomas Bright seconded the motion, but it was negatived by a majority of fifteen, and the debate was resumed. The motion submitted by Mr. John Holgate was, “That it is justifiable on Scriptural grounds to defend ourselves against the attacks of our enemies.” Mr. John Bright maintained, “That it is not justifiable.” The Rev. G. Heaviside seconded the amendment, which was carried by a majority of six. Mr. S. Heape was in the chair at the meeting on the 5th June, 1834, when the Rev. G. Heaviside lectured “On the universal education of the lower classes,” and proposed, “That it is the opinion of the meeting that the universal education of the people is necessary.” Mr. John Holgate seconded this resolution, which was supported by Mr. Johu Bright, and unanimously agreed to by the members present. On the 3rd of July the subject of “The moral tendency of public amusements, such as the theatre, circus, &c.” was introduced by Mr. John Bright, who submitted the following motion:—” That the moral tendency of public amusements, such as the theatre, circus, &c., is injurious.” Mr. James Ecroyd seconded the motion, which was passed.

In the summer months of 1835, Mr. John Bright with Mr. King (manufacturer of Rochdale) went on a tour to the Holy Land, a country he had long wished to explore, for its mysteries, and sublime desolate regions. They visited Gibraltar, Malta, and Egypt on the way, and returning by Smyrna, Constantinople, and Athens, passed through Italy, France, and Belgium homewards. The first meeting he attended on his return was held on the 14th April, 1836, Mr. Bright himself occupying the chair. Mr. Davidson read a paper on Phrenology, and, after a discussion, concluded by moving, “That it is the opinion of this meeting that the system of Phrenology, as promulgated by Gall and Spurzheim, is the only sure basis yet discovered on which to form a correct system of intellectual philosophy.” Mr. Chadwick spoke against the motion, and moved an amendment to the effect that the “Science of Phrenology has not been established.” Mr. James Petrie strongly opposed the motion, and Mr. Henry Armitage spoke in its favour; Dr. Morris opposed and Mr. Ormerod supported the motion. Upon the votes being taken, six were for the amendment and six for the motion, but it was not stated in the minutes whether Mr. John Bright gave a casting vote one way or the other. At the meeting held on the 5th of May, 1836, presided over by Mr. Ormerod, Mr. John Bright introduced the subject ” Of the decline and fall of nations,” concluding an interesting lecture by a motion—” That there are causes to which the decline of nations may be attributed without having recourse to the argument that ‘ nations are subject to the same laws as individuals/ &c.” Messrs. Scott, Armitage, and Ecroyd took part in the discussion, and the general opinion was in favour of the resolution.

At the meeting on the 2nd of June Mr. John Bright gave an interesting account of the countries he had visited, and it is to be regretted that a reporter was not present to record his description

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of the towns ho passed through, his impressions, and the amusing anecdotes he related. A few of the anecdotes are still fresh in the remembrance of some of those who were present, and we shall repeat them. At that time Mr. Bright was a great admirer of the works of Lord Byron, and visited most of the noted places mentioned in that noble monument of genins, ” Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage.” Byron’s muse dwells amongst wild scenery, roaming in a region of gloomy grandeur, amongst Alpine precipices and cloud-capped mountains, and Mr. Bright loved to penetrate such regions too. He had not prepared the lecture, nor had he any notes before him; he gave the lecture from memory, and often introduced beautiful passages from Byron.

“Adien, adien! my native shore
Fades o’er the waters blue;
The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar,
And shrieks the wild sea-mew.

Yon sun that sets upon tho sea

We follow in his flight;
Farewell awhile to him and thee,

My native land—Good Night 1”

During Mr. Bright’s voyage in the Mediterranean an amusing incident occurred, of which he was an eye-witness. A lady (evidently a spinster) was one of his fellow-passengers on board. She made a particular fuss and manifested a great deal of anxiety about her lapdog, which was nursed with a motherly care, and which received from her the most lavish affection. One day while the passengers were in the saloon at dinner it was found that the heat was oppressive and unbearable; so, to admit a little fresh air, a window looking on the deck was suddenly opened, when down fell the lapdog, which had been basking in the sun above, into the soup-tureen on the dining-table. On this unexpected downfall and addition to their soup, the passengers, notwithstanding the splash which accompanied the sudden advent, were unable to suppress their mirth, and hearty roars of laughter resounded throughout the saloon, whilst the lady, the darling of whose solicitude had thus suddenly disappeared, on hearing of the sad mishap to her little pet became almost frantic, and poured out a wail of lamentation. Fortunately for her future happiness, it turned out that her favourite was not much the worse for its warm immersion in the tureen.

Another anecdote related by Mr. John Bright can hardly fail to produce the impression that our sailors are not the best authorities to initiate foreigners into the art of speaking the

Old maids and toy dogs (Google Books and Archive.org)

Young Maids and Old – Page 52
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Clara Louise Burnham – 1889 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
“I do believe the dog’s the worst part of it all ! ” groaned Polly. ” Didn’t her mother ask you if Susan might bring a toy dog from whom she could not bear to be parted ? ” asked Phineas, bubbling over with merriment. ” Yes, but of course I thought …
When the Little Toy Dog Was New – Page 198
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Warren R. B. Dixon – 2010 – ‎Preview
“He was as much an old maid as you about it. For example, he hated the word `fuck.’ To him our use of it was a badge of our servitude. He called it a white-trash word. He blamed us for our merde-mouthed ways. But tell me this, pilgrim.
Cat Lady Old Maid
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Stories of an Old Maid: Related to Her Nephews and Nieces – Page 174
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Mme Emile de Girardin – 1856 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
… red, lilac ; there were enough upon this plant to furnish all the dolls of a toy-warehouse with a hood ; and the display which … which, as it would appear, opened all sorts of locks, ” go and open the golden niche, and bring hither the flying dog.
The Pug – A Complete Anthology of the Dog
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Various Authors – 2013 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
As a fact at the present day the pug is the most popular and the commonest of our toy dogs. … might have been originally intended—the patient follower of a ruminating philosopher, or the adulating and consolatory companion of an old maid.
Twice Around the Clock: Or, The Hours of the Day and Night in London
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George Augustus Sala – 1862 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
many cases might with as much propriety answer to the name of dog- stealers — forbidding-looking gentry, in coats of velveteen, with large … Here is the delightful little toy English terrier, with his jet-black coat, erect neck, and tan paws ; and here the genuine Skye, gray or … useless little dog, that, a quarter of a century since, was the treasure of our dowagers and our old maids 1 Where is the Dutch pug ?
Math plus Reading, Grades 2 – 3: Summer Before Grade 3 – Page 186
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American Education Publishing – 2011 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
Play “60 Fish” Jump ‘”°I>’a Play “Old Maid” Play ball Classifying Directions: Read each animal story. Then look at … Write an H for horse, P for panda,or D for dog next to each fact. … Some people have special, small doors for their dogs to use.
Toy Dogs: The History, Points and Standards of English Toy Spaniels, …
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Lillian C. Raymond-Mallock – 1907 – ‎No preview – ‎More editions
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2014 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
Lee likes to play a card game called “Old Maid. … Both Ann Lee Play “Go Fish” Jump rope Play ball Play “Old Maid” Page 150 Classifying: Watch Out for Poison Ivy! Poison ivy is … Some people have special,small doors for their dogs to use.
Century Illustrated Monthly Magazine … – Volume 61 – Page 675
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1901 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
But the dog, weak from vigil and fright, was already asleep; and the old maid’s heart failed her before the sight: she could not do it; she let him stay. After one small sigh of ecstasy, the little being had subsided from his terror and his torment …

Young Maids and Old
By Clara Louise Burnham
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was what her mother had told her to say when she should meet her hostess.

“Will he bite?” gasped Miss Thorne, extending a reluctant hand, and keeping an eye on Bijou, who, unconscious of inspiring fear, now gave a prodigious yawn after the fatigues of the day, causing Polly to jump back to a safer distance.

Susan laughed, and administered a pat on the little muzzle. “Shame on you!” she said. “How many times have I told you to put your paw over your mouth when you do that!—No, indeed, Miss Thorne, you could not make him bite. I frankly confess that / am starving, but will you let me go up stairs and wash my face and hands? I feel so soiled!”

Miss Thorne replied as cordially as she was able, and pulled herself up stairs by the slender banister, followed by her guest. When she had shown the latter her room, and set a lighted lamp on the bureau, she moved down stairs again like one in a dream. At sight of her brother standing with twinkling eyes in the middle of the parlor, she became animated, and rushed into the room with both hands uplifted.

“Phineas, Phin-e-as! Sh! Sh! Sh!” for his laughter threatened to burst forth. “I do believe the dog’s the worst part of it all!” groaned Polly.

“Didn’t her mother ask you if Susan might bring a toy dog from whom she could not bear to be parted?” asked Phineas, bubbling over with merriment.

“Yes, but of course I thought it was a woolly plaything dog, such as any Christian child enjoys,” replied his sister, in an agonized whisper. “Phineas — Phineas Thome I” she added, pinching his arm until he cringed.

“What’s the matter now?”

“I’ve left a picture-book on her stand! It’s naming red and yellow. I bought it at the village today. Oh, do go up and get it. No you can’t, of course.”

Phineas wiped his eyes. “She won’t notice it, perhaps. She’ll be in a hurry to come down to tea, and then you can slip up and get it.”

“I’ve learned a lesson,” said Polly, turning stern. “It’s this. Don’t be too obliging. We’re in for it now. Oh, Land! Comfort’s gone for us, Phineas!”

“Oh, perhaps not. A friend came with her on the train, and has gone to Miss Trowbridge’s. Perhaps they will spend a good deal of time together.

“A lady?”

“Yes.”

Polly shook her head mournfully. “This is bad, bad, Phineas. You must stand by me.”

Then, with sudden recollection, she hurried into the dining-room, and seizing the silver mug and small knife and fork from the table, she put them out of sight in a closet.

B

CHAPTER V.

A FOND AUNT.

ETWEEN the time of receiving Miss Trowbridge’s unexpected invitation and the moment of starting for Proctor, Irene wrought herself into an unusual state of warm and sympathetic feeling toward her unknown entertainer. She knew by experience what a woman might be made to suffer who loved Richard Flanders, and it might really be, as he had coarsely suggested, that this woman loved him still. Irene loyally leaned toward the belief that he was right, and this idea gave her unknown friend a tender interest for her.

Her heart beat fast as the stone walls of The Eyrie loomed stately and tall through the darkness. The stolid Moses clucked to the horse to encourage him up the last and steepest part of the winding road that approached the house, and as he stopped beneath a porte-cochere Irene saw, under a jewelled lantern that hung in the vestibule, the tall figure of her hostess waiting. As the girl stepped from the phaeton she was conscious of trembling with excitement. It was to her in her lonely life a supreme moment thus to come face to face with a woman utterly strange, yet bound to her by a tender tie; the woman, too, to whom she felt gratitude for stretching out a helping hand to her in the time of need.

She felt scarcely able to speak, and welcomed with relief the frank cordiality with which Miss Trowbridge took both her hands and kissed her cheek. There was no shade of embarrassment in the manner of her hostess as she led her guest into a reception room and looked curiously and kindly into the girl’s face.

“Two privileges I want you to grant me at once,” she said; “one is to call you by your first name, and the other is to let me stare at you for a minute.”

“The first by all means, and the second under protest,” replied Irene; “for I am soiled, and first impressions are so important!”

“I can make allowance for cinders. H’m! you do not resemble your father.”

Irene colored violently.

“Your mother, I suppose. I never saw her. Thank you, my dear!” Here Miss Trowbridge released the girl’s hands. “So you are twenty years

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Belmont, Parsons, Fleck, Mortimer, and other gentlemen importing, breeding, and exhibiting these dogs, have taken first premiums. … The pug may be tugged about by silly girls or old maids who can find no better company, but even then they run the risk of having their morals or … The King Charles, Dandy Dinmont, Italian greyhound, and other mere toy dogs, are matters of taste rather than of use.
Brentano’s Aquatic Monthly and Sporting Gazetteer
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1880 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
Belmont, Parsons, Fleck, Mortimer, and other gentlemen importing, breeding, and exhibiting these dogs, have taken first premiums. … The pug may be tugged about by silly girls or old maids who can find no better company, but even then they run the risk of having their morals or … The King Charles, Dandy Dinmont, Italian greyhound, and other mere toy dogs, are matters of taste rather than of use.
The Century Illustrated Monthly Magazine – Volume 61 – Page 675
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1901 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
But the dog, weak from vigil and fright, was already asleep; and the old maid’s heart failed her before the sight: she could not do it; she let him stay. After one small sigh of ecstasy, the little being had subsided from his terror and his torment …
The Century – Volume 61 – Page 675
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Making of America Project, ‎Richard Watson Gilder – 1901 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
But the dog, weak from vigil and fright, was already asleep; and the old maid’s heart failed her before the sight: she could … And there was no mistake about his gender; he was the most positively masculine little creature, for a toy-dog, that ever …
The Century Illustrated Monthly Magazine – Volume 61 – Page 675
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Josiah Gilbert Holland, ‎Richard Watson Gilder – 1901 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
But the dog, weak from vigil and fright, was already asleep; and the old maid’s heart failed her before the sight: she could … And there was no mistake about his gender; he was the most positively masculine little creature, for a toy-dog, that ever …
The Century – Volume 61 – Page 675
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Blackwood’s Magazine – Volumes 255-256 – Page 19
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1944 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
The moment the hare disappeared behind the sacking the dogs lost all interest and pulled up. … noticing this, intimated by loudspeaker that it proposed to hold a race, half-way round the course, for toy dogs—nothing bigger than foxterriers, … There were men and women, old and young, including several sporting old maids.
Hygeia – Volume 23, Issues 7-12 – Page 900
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1945 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
Cuddle toys, preferably of slip skin type Soft dolls: rag, stocking, character of cotton stuffed type Blocks: commercial … child will imitate parents in caring for pets — dog, cat and rabbits Dancing lessons Toy musical instruments The child is a great imitator. The 12 month old baby quickly imitates expressions of elders as well as treatment of toys, as shown in loving of … Soft dolls and cuddle toys Wagons Marbles Wagons Tricycle Dominoes Dishes Jingo game Old maid ) BRASSIERES …
A Little Maid of Old Connecticut
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Alice Turner Curtis – 1996 – ‎Full view – ‎More editions
In 1776 a young Connecticut girl, unaware that her hat box contains a mysterious package from a Tory prisoner, travels by stagecoach to visit her grandmother.
Trade Names Dictionary – Page 1197
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1988 – ‎No preview – ‎More editions

Brentano’s Aquatic Monthly and Sporting Gazetteer, Volume 3
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there had been any necessity for it. Their time was 8m. 20^5. No. 2, 8m. 41^5.; No. 3, 8m. 475. Nos. i and 4 did not finish.

The second race was for the single scull championship of the club, and a handsome emblem, the challenge belt; distance, two miles straightaway; four members were entered, but only three came into line—G. F. Krapp, J. B. Gibson, Jr., and H. F. Spitzka. After a good contest Krapp won in i6m. 2ij^s.; Gibson was second, in 17111. O2%s.; Spitzka, 17111. 07^5.

The third race was one mile, for four-oared gigs, prize challenge plate. The competing crews were: No. i—Edward Young, bow; M. L. Sutton, 2; Alfred M. Hearn, 3; W. C. Taggard, stroke; Augustus Winters, coxswain. No. 2—H. F. Kennedy, bow; W. H. Smith, 2; H. F. Spitzka, 3; John Reiffel, stroke; F. Pfannkuchen, coxswain. No. 3—P. E. Dolan, bow; W. M. Dean, 2; E. Featherstone, 3; Charles Earwicker, stoke; D. Cunningham, coxswain. No. 3 won in 6m. 39^8; No. i was second, in 6m 49^5.; and No. 2 last, in 7m. o8^s.

The fourth and last race was between eight-oared barges for a set of colors. Two crews were entered, as follows: John H. Dolan, bow; D. Cunningham, No. 2; Thomas Worman, No. 3; Thomas Cosgrove, No. 4; H. P. Gibson, No. 5; Henry Hoyt, No. 6; H. C. Hynard, No. 7; H. F. Kennedy, stroke; James Brice, coxswain. C. A. Port, bow; J. H. Corwin, No. 2; Charles Kundahl, No. 3; C. B. Keyes, No. 4; W. H. Smith, No. 5; E. J. Atkinson, No. 6; H. R. Mills, No. 7; Charles Hazelton, stroke; Harbeck Mills, coxswain.

The regatta committee were Messrs. John Neville, Chairman; Edward J. Atkinson, Thomas Cosgrove, Philip E. Dolan, William M. Dean, John Kyle, Charles Kundahl, Alfred M. Hearn, and W. H. Smith. The Reception Committee consisted of Messrs. H. C. Hynard, James Veitch, Frank Hopper, H. A. Palmstine, J. H. Jackson,

A. T. Bridgman, A. C. Jenkins, C. H. Wilcox and C. B. Nicholson. M. J. Murray, of the Friendship Boat Club, was the referee.

President Charles Earwicker, who is one of the oldest boating men on the Harlem, was justly congratulated on his victories as stroke, in both the pair-oared and four-oared gig races. The belt rowed for in the two-mile single scull champion race was made many years since, and is a good specimen of the skill of Mr. Murray, the well-known boating man who officiated as referee. It was presented to the club, during the earlier years of its organization, by ex-President Charles

B. Zachmann, who was one of its founders. Among the auld-langsyne Gramercys present were Messrs. Sutton, Atkinson, Palmstein, Wilcox, Hynard, Dean, etc.

The Four-oared Race between the Sylvans of Moline and Davenports has been postponed for a few weeks on account ‘of the low stage of water on the course of the former, at Moline, 111., where the race was to have occurred.

R. W. Boyd has accepted the challenge of William Elliott of Blyth, to row a match in February next over the Tyne course, England, for |5oo or $1,000 a side.

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This wonderfully sagacious little dog is a cross between the foxhound and the bull-terrier. The blood of these progenitors was commingled centuries ago; and the progeny have been so constantly inbred to this primal cross, forming the fox-terrier of to-day, that his reduced standard weight, at from one to two years, averages from 14 to 20 pounds. High condition only enables him to reach the latter.

Gipp, the subject of the cut given above, was drawn from life by our artist, and engraved for this article. She is “the gem of the kennel.” She is of the choicest English breed called Belvoir. At eleven months she took first prize at Westminster Kennel Club Bench Show, held at Gilmore’s Garden, New York, April, 1880.

Dam—Imported Suss; very highly commended by the Westminster Kennel Club, New York, 1879, out of Right-at-Last, by Sir Charles, out of Lady Lorton, by Sir Edward. All prize-winners in England. Gipp is owned by Mr. F. W. Fleck, 139 Cedar street, New York.

Sire—Clinchy, out of Kate by Champion Tyke, out of Flint by Prince, from Duke of Rutland’s kennel, Belvoir Castle, Nottinghamshire, England.

Kate took first prize at Nottingham. Prince and Kate belong to Mr. Parsons, 505 Fifth Avenue, New York. Prince was imported by Mr. Parsons direct from kennels.

Most of the fox-terriers are white, with a patch or blotch of black or tan on the face, forehead, ear and neck, shoulder or rump; their eyes are well set, black, sparkling, and dance with a lustrous gleam of wide-awake vivacity, with intelligence beaming from their expressive countenances; the ear should be just big enough to form a close and perfect protection to the auditory orifice thin, and so active as to be erected or pricked instantaneously on the slightest perception of sound; the head should be long, lean, bony and shapely, with a hard, powerful jaw 5 the lips tight, thin, compressed, giving the muzzle a cunning foxy expression; the forehead flat, teeth level, and the whole expression that of determination, courage, dignity and character; the neck long and well set; the back long and round; ribs deep, shoulders oblique and strong; legs straight as darts, supple, and expressive of fleetness; feet small, compact and cat-like; the stern strong and straight; tail tapering, fine, active and expressive; the coat hard, short and smooth.

These are the points of a perfect fox-terrier, to which may be added nigged health, cobby, snug build, and great endurance. His carriage is proud, high, firm, and noble. The first impression, on seeing a fox-terrier, is that he is well-bred, and of striking mien.

Few or no dogs excel the fox-terrier in sagacity. Having the entree of the house, he picks up a great deal of information, learns words, sentences and sounds, knows individual foot-falls and voices, understands expressions of pleasure, displeasure, anger and reproach. These he acknowledges with beaming face, wagging tail and pricked ears, when looks, words or expressions of pleasure come from his master or his friends But when displeasure or reproof comes from those he faithfully loves, his countenance and ears fall, his eye is cast down, his tail droops, and his whole expression is one of humility, regret and sorrow. But indignity deeply wounds his feelings, though he is but a dog. He is high-toned from good associations, and cannot therefore bear an insult. An unnecessary or unjust kick or cuff from a stranger offends his honor, and his pluck compels resentment. When roused to defiance, he is an antagonist worthy of respect.

His long, inbred characteristics have fixed them so firmly that they are always transmitted to his progeny; and his long association with human refinement and intelligence has completely obliterated the wild and base instincts of the ill-bred dog. It is this fact that renders him the most valuable dog for the farm, on account of his never joining mongrel curs in the midnight chase and destruction of sheep. Millions of dollars would be saved to the sheep industry annually, if these beautiful creatures were substituted for the average worthless curs, whose sheep-killing instincts make them almost a bar to one of the most valuable industries of the United States.

As a ratter, and other vermin destroyer, he pays for his keeping, and saves to the farmer a hundred dollars a year in preventing the destruction of grain and poultry to fully that amount by vermin.

He will execute any task to which his size renders him capable of performing. He will learn tricks with the poodle, fetch and carry with the Newfoundland, and take to water as readily—though he will not remain so long on account of his short coat—hunt with spaniel or fox-hound, and fight with a dog ten times his weight, till “all’s blue.”

For thorough gameness, united with obedience, good temper and intelligence, he surpasses every breed of dog. He is small, short in coat, cleanly in habit, and of a discriminating temper, which makes him the ” pet of the petticoats,” the idol of the children, the companion of his master, and fast friend of the household.

He is fast gaining the respect and confidence of the public; and the public is appreciative and generally right.

In 1860, at the Birmingham Dog Show, there were only four foxterriers. At the same place in 1864 there were 37 entries. In 1867, double that number; and in 1871, at the Crystal Palace, there were over too shown. In this country, and at our bench shows at the Madison Square Garden, there have been a large number of foreign and home-bred fox-terriers shown for the past few years.

The dogs belonging to Messrs. Belmont, Parsons, Fleck, Mortimer, and other gentlemen importing, breeding, and exhibiting these dogs, have taken first premiums.

In commending this dog to farmers and other gentlemen, I most especially advise the breed to be kept pure; for upon this important consideration depends his surpassing qualities and his marked negative excellence—not a sheep-killer.

There is so little reliable literature on the subject of the fox-terrier, that I scarcely know to whom to give credit for whatever I may have borrowed. There seems to be an indisposition on the part of writers, or rather compilers, to seek for reliable information, as it is easier and less trouble to copy without question or thought.

If the farmer or any other gentleman requires a dog, it is a matter of considerable importance to possess the one having the most and best recommendation for the situation, the same as any other servant. There are a few very important duties devolving upon a good dog for the farmer or gentlemen. First, he should be a good and faithful watcher; he should be kind in disposition; he should be gentle to persons, and stock of all kinds; he should be obedient; he should be a good ratter; he should be intelligent, so as to know his master’s family, premises, and stock. A dog possessing these qualities is a suitable servant for any person requiring one. The mastiff and Dalmatian are perhaps the noblest of their race. They are lordly fellows, but too large for the farmer or private gentleman. The Newfoundland is a grand animal, but too much of a gentleman of leisure for proper attention to business. The St. Bernard is romantic, and given to serve others besides his master. The Siberian or Ulm is too much of a churl and cruel soldier and a gormandizer; he would have no scruples in eating an ox or a horse, or even a man. The greyhound, though exquisitely beautiful, is too fleet, headlong, fickle and foolish for any one master or locality. As I am speaking of the most valuable dog for the farm and homestead, I must pass over, but not slightingly, the pointers, setters, deerhounds, foxhounds, spaniels, cockers, and all mere sporting dogs, for they are all out of place and order on the farm and at the homestead, for they continually make sport out of the serious business of these staid places, which they would repeatedly turn topsy-turvy. Bull-do gs are sullen, sulky, and savage beasts, and only fit companions for low, vulgar, and brutal men. The bull-terrier, in character and morals, is near akin to the ugly bull, though very valuable as a vermin exterminator and guard, though dangerous if confined to the imprisoning chain. The pug may be tugged about by silly girls or old maids who can find no better company, but even then they run the risk of having their morals or garments soiled by too great intimacy with vulgar company. The King Charles, Dandy Dinmont, Italian greyhound, and other mere toy dogs, are matters of taste rather than of use. But the black-and-tan terriers, the Scotch and Skye are useful, intelligent and companionable dogs anywhere. They make war on rats and vermin pests. They are watchful at night, and good company in the day time. The latter dogs are valuable with sheep, and some like them in the dairy, but I do not think that their presence is conducive to wool-growing or productive dairying. I may be regarded as fastidious in my notions of the best dog for the country home, the farm or the city; but I find in the fox-terrier so many excellent qualities that I am perforce compelled to be partial to him. He is active, intelligent, kind, vigilant, obedient, cleanly, beautiful, sprightly, heroic, honest, faithful, healthy, and capable of performing his work in a most prompt and satisfactory manner. No stray animal can invade the premises with impunity day or night. Every unusual noise must be accounted for. The derangements of the house or barns are learned and reported by him in a business way. Foxes, skunks, rats, weasels, stray cats and other marauders are expelled from the premises on pain of death. He is a gentlemanly dog, and despises the trickery and the worthlessness of the low and vulgar cur. He loves his master, and is honestly attentive to his interests and wishes. Look at his intelligent head, his bright eyes, his muscular shoulders, his firm and sinewy limbs, his well-formed body, his resolute and amiable expression; behold his self-respect and reliance in his attitude and bearing; and I doubt not you will admire, appreciate, and love him for his many virtues. I love this elegant, frisky little spright because of his beauty, his airs and his gaiety, and I have long ago satisfied myself of his genuine worth. He is neither a laggard nor a runaway, a thief nor a sheep-killer. In this last commendation he far surpasses every other kind of dog. Every breed of dog, doubtless, has its special fitness and uses, but I can honestly commend the fox-terrier to any honest, sober, respectable person who is worthy of a good dog and true friend.

“Old dog Tray is ever faithful,
Grief cannot drive him away,

He’s gentle and he’s kind,

You’ll never, never find
A better friend than old dog Tray.”

Toy Dogs and Their Ancestors:

It has been stated that only childless women and dis-

lo

INTRODUCTION

appointed spinsters care for dogs. It is true that those
to whom fate has been unkind sometimes find comfort in
the unselfish love of a dog whose affection subsists re-
gardless of worldly considerations, but I would point out
that the man who thoroughly dislikes animals will gen-
erally make an indifferent sort of father, and a fondness
for animals often goes with understanding and fondness
for children. Say what you will, a nature which dislikes
animals is almost invariably hard and selfish or, at the
very least, cold and unsympathetic.

Let no one, therefore, sneer at the keeping of dogs,
but let us all rather be thankful that the world holds
creatures so unselfish and tmworldly-wise, so blind to
their own interests, and so devoted to our own.

The Works of Eugene Field Vol. I: A Little Book of Western Verse
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Eugene Field – 2012 – ‎Preview
To the careless observer the immense array of weird dolls and absurd toys in his working-room meant little more than an … each “ spinster doll,” each little toy dog, each little tin soldier, played its part in the poems he sent out into the world.
A Library of the World’s Best Literature – Ancient and Modern – Vol. …
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Charles Dudley Warner – 2008 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
To the careless observer the immense array of weird dolls and absurd toys in his working-room meant little more than an … each ‘spinster doll,’ each little toy dog, each little tin soldier, played its part in the poems he sent out into the world.
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Lady Wentworth – 1911 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
Including the History and Management of Toy Spaniels, Pekingese, Japanese and Pomeranians Lady Wentworth. terfly lived to more … It has been stated that only childless women and dis- appointed spinsters care for dogs. It is true that those …
A Little Book of Western Verse
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Eugene Field – 2012 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
To the careless observer the immense array of weird dolls and absurd toys in his working-room meant little more than an … each “spinster doll,” each little toy dog, each little tin soldier, played its part in the poems he sent out into the world.
The Annual Register: Or a View of the History, Politics and …
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1863 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
… contained a “toy” dog, of smallest size and priceless value, and from many climes; the English black tan, the shivering … but, perhaps, many an advanced spinster was shocked to find that she was entertaining a “sporting dog” on her quiet …
The Annual Register, Or, A View of the History and Politics of the …
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1863 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
… contained a “toy” dog, of smallest size and priceless value, and from many climes; the English black tan, the shivering … but, perhaps, many an advanced spinster was shocked to find that she was entertaining a “ sporting dog” on her quiet …
The diminished self: Orwell and the loss of freedom – Page 138
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Mark Connelly – 1987 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
George Bowling, dismayed by his false teeth and obesity, determines to prove that there is “life in the old dog yet” though … they pass into premature middle age and become frustrated, cranky spinsters who make a fuss over tea and toy dogs.
The Living Age – Volume 280 – Page 381
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1914 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
Yet ordinary observation shows that it is not the childless matron and the spinster alone who decorate their pets with … A Toy dog may not respond intelligently to endearments, but it will at least accept passively the emotions that must The …
The Living Age – Volume 280 – Page 381
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Eliakim Littell, ‎Robert S. Littell – 1914 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
Yet ordinary observation shows that It Is not the childless matron and the spinster alone who decorate their pets with … A Toy dog may not respond Intelligently to endearments, but it will at least accept passively the emotions that must The …
VM/SAC, Veterinary Medicine/small Animal Clinician
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1981 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
An astute practitioner once asked me, “Do many people come in with a toy breed of dog in their arms and refuse to put it on the exam table?” “Yes,” I replied … Many spinsters own large male dogs that give them a sense of security. But some of …

Veterinary Medicine, Small Animal Clinician: VM, SAC. – Page 438
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1968 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
Head-Shrinking for Veterinarians s – Many dogs are convulsion-prone Primidone Raises the seizure … In my practice there are several spinsters who own large male dogs made ferocious by their owners’ inability to dominate them in their role of “husband” substitute. Recently, I heard a veterinarian say that, to him, the person who sleeps with and constantly carries a small toy dog in his arms is reverting to …
The Intelligence of Dogs: A Guide to the Thoughts, Emotions, and …
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Stanley Coren – 2006 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
Can you teach on old dog new tricks? How smart is your dog? Psychologist Stanley Coren answers these questions and more in this enlightening resource for dog owners, potential dog owners, and anyone who loves a good dog story.
The chihuahua
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Thelma Gray – 1961 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
The Throwback
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Tom Sharpe – 2011 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
When Lockhart Flawse is catapulted out of his upper-class and rapunzel-esque life with the curmudgeonly Flawse Senior, he must enter the world of suburbia, and marriage.
The Saturday Review of Politics, Literature, Science and Art
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1913 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
But the average male, loving dogs of most types, harbours a secret dislike for the Toy. … Yet ordinary observation shows that it is not the childless matron and the spinster alone who decorate their pets with jewelled collars, clothe them in …
The Saturday Review of Politics, Literature, Science and Art
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John Douglas Cook, ‎Philip Harwood, ‎Walter Herries Pollock – 1913 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
But the average male, loving dogs of most types, harbours a secret dislike for the Toy. … Yet ordinary observation shows that it is not the childless matron and the spinster alone who decorate their pets with jewelled collars, clothe them in …
The Academy – Volume 74 – Page 919
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1908 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
SmyBqea’riis t era 82: News and Nonsense _ _ 9,9 woman carrying a toy-dog. … the mental destruction of Bayswater and the Shavian female, and we may see what we see in the shape of processions and shouting spinsters in consequence.
Saturday Review of Politics, Literature, Science and Art
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1913 – ‎No preview – ‎More editions
Dog Tags
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David Rosenfelt – 2010 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
A German Shepherd police dog witnesses a murder and if his owner–an Iraq war vet and former cop-turned-thief–is convicted of the crime, the dog could be put down.
Foreign Affairs: A Novel
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Alison Lurie – 2013 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
This Pulitzer Prize–winning novel follows two American academics in London—a young man and a middle-aged woman—as they each fall into unexpected romances.

The Academy and Literature – Volume 74 – Page 919
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1908 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
The second was a man carrying a baby ; the third was a woman carrying a toy-dog. … mental destruction of Bayswater and the Shavian female, and we may see what we see in the shape of processions and shouting spinsters in consequence.
Gentlemen Prefer Spinsters
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Samantha Holt – 2018 – ‎No preview
The first rule of the Spinsters Club is: You do not talk about the Spinsters Club.The second rule of the Spinsters Club is: You do not talk about the Spinsters Club.The third rule.
Spinster: Making a Life of One’s Own
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Kate Bolick – 2015 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
From the Hardcover edition.
Nobody’s Darling
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Teresa Medeiros – 2013 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
He always gets his lady… Billy Darling doesn’t enjoy being a wanted man until the day a duke’s prim and proper granddaughter comes marching into the Tumbleweed Saloon and points her derringer at his heart.
How to Talk to Your Cat About Gun Safety: And Abstinence, Drugs, …
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Zachary Auburn – 2016 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
Written in a simple Q&A format, How to Talk to Your Cat About Gun Safety answers crucial questions such as, “What is the right age to talk to my cat about the proper use of firearms?” and “What are the benefits of my cat living a …
Last of the Saddle Tramps: One Woman’s Seven Thousand Mile …
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Messanie Wilkins – 2001 – ‎No preview – ‎More editions
“Last of the Saddle Tramps” is thus the warm and humorous story of a humble American heroine bound for adventure and the Pacific Ocean. The classic tale is amply illustrated with photographs.
Dogdom: Monthly – Volume 19 – Page 62
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1918 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
puppy show, under VV. E. Baker … Spinster is now in whelp to a good local dog, Cole, and we are looking for something extra good. — E. R. … Mrs. W. C. Thompson, New York, N. Y. — Yorkshire terriers, toy black and tan terriers. Messrs.
The Spinster Sisters
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Stacey Ballis – 2007 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
Their futures have never been brighter-until Jill turns out the lights on Jodi by announcing her engagement. Jodi is stunned. How can they be the Spinster Sisters if one of them is married?
Will’s True Wish
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Grace Burrowes – 2016 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
True Gentlemen series: Tremaine’s True Love (Book 1) Daniels’ True Desire (Book 2) Will’s True Wish (Book 3) Praise for Tremaine’s True Love: [A] fast-paced love story with nuances of humor and poignancy, astute dialogue, passion and …
The Dog Walker
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Lesley Thomson – 2017 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
Brand new from the #1 bestselling author of The Detective’s Daughter.

The Academy and Literature, Volume 74

His wife he greeted uplifted with hat. The second was a man carrying a baby; the third was a woman carrying a toy-dog. The juxtaposition struck the philosopher. ‘Look there’ said he, ‘only one baby in the procession, and that carried by a man; only one dog and, that carried by a woman! Oh, what would Father Vaughan say if he were to see it?’

Old maids; their varieties, characters, and conditions (Google Books)

Dear amiabilities ! can we wonder that you are
kind nurses—or that you are fond of cats, dogs,
b
60 OLD MAIDS IN GENERAL.
parrots and Chinese monsters ? Is it not thus that
you are forced to display your pent-up sensibili
ties? Something you must love—your hearts
are overflowing with milk and honey ; but man
kind, blind to your amiable qualities, meet your ad
vances, as if their most deadly enemies were making
covert approaches to destroy their sanctuaries.
This is prejudice—fatal and perverse preju
dice—and it is our task to display you in your
natural colors; we will show you as beings
to be loved and cherished ; the screen that
has separated you from the world shall be re
moved—you shall assume your place in society,
stainless and pure as you are, ‘ les sceurs de la
chastite” ;’ old and young shall welcome you, and
henceforward, no tinge of shame shall steal over
your cheeks at being greeted as Old Maids

We had the satisfaction of finding that our
harangue had recalled the amiable sisterhood to
their senses. After the first few sentences, the
array of dogs and monkeys, whose white teeth
glittered like the show in a dentist’s window, was
withdrawn, next the advanced termagants fell
back upon the main body, and, at its conclusion,
the whole were in disarry.

” Coquettish airs, I thought, would level me
with ‘the donkey playing lapdog;’ therefore I
would neither flirt nor romp, dance nor sing, drees
immodestly for parties, nor masculinely for rides,
talk of passions, nor do platonic. From the first I
treated all my male acquaintance as if I had been
their sister, I might rather say their brother; and
never being asked to marry, believed that no worthy
man had felt more than a fraternal sentiment for
me; though I was once disgraced by being admitted
into the million, on whom a monkey thrust the
insult of what he miscalled his love.

We ventured to hint, very remotely indeed,
that a little envy might make them unjust. It
was well for us that this insinuation was but a
very distant one, or we verily believe, that much as
they admired us, we should have been annihilated.
Brows were bent ominously upon us—stocking
needles were sharpened, buttonhole scissors slipped
within their sleeves, ivory daggers smiled upon,
and a whole army of poodles and monkeys held
in leash, ready for immediate action.

Stories of an Old Maid: Related to Her Nephews and Nieces
By Mme Emile de Girardin
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190 – 194

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possessing a marvel, to suffer anxiety on account of it: a beautiful object is always in danger.

Madame de Cherville kissed her son tenderly on his return.

“At last,” she said, “you have come back; I began to be uncomfortable about your long absence. Now, tell me, have you been much amused? what have you been doing at the princess’s?”

Leon was at a loss to answer this question, because he could not do so openly and frankly.

“I breakfasted,” he replied.

“Well, and after that?—you have not been breakfasting all day?”

“I have had tea and coffee.”

“From nine o’clock in the morning till five in the afternoon! you must have had two or three dozen cups then, at least,” said Madame de Cherville with a smile.

“0, I have not been so long at breakfast as all that,” Leon replied; “we walked about the conservatories and in the garden—and I have been running about—and playing—”

“What nasty dog is that ?” interrupted Madame de Cherville; “it surely is not the one you have chosen? Dear me, how ugly he is! my poor Leon, the princess has been making fun of you.”

As Leon could not mention all the talents his dog possessed, he would have greatly preferred not talking about him at all; but when he heard his mother speak of the extraordinary animal so insultingly, he could not bear it.

“0, mamma, if you could only see how he— runs!” he exclaimed, “you would no longer think him ugly. If you could only see him as I saw him!—And then he is so clever, so intelligent; he is a most remarkable, a most extraordinary dog: in fact, I do not believe there is another in the whole world like him!”

“0, don’t be alarmed, my dear; you may rest assured I shall not go to hunt after his equal; the sight of him alone is quite enough for me.”

And Madame de Cherville, in spite of herself, could not help laughing at the miserable figure the animal cut; and, in truth, as we have observed, the dog had very little pretension to beauty.

Leon was on thorns; he could not, without great annoyance, hear Madame de Cherville laugh at his dog,—that wonderful dog, whose merit he himself knew so well. He could not bear to see a creature so worthy of admiration thus despised. His selflove suffered for his poor dog, of which he had now become so fond; with which he had risen so high above the earth; with which he had soared among the clouds far above the world and the dwellings of men :—have him thus insulted! 0, it was impossible!

“Come, my good Faraud,” said Leon, addressing the flying dog, “come into my room: there at least nobody shall laugh at you.”

“In your own room !” cried Madame de Cherville; “no, indeed, my love; you must take him into the stable.”

“The stable !” repeated Leon in an angry tone; “put into the stable a dog which—” At these words he stopped short, for he felt his secret was about to escape him; but his indignation and grief were too much for him, so he burst into tears.

Madame deCherville felt pity for her son’s despair.

“Come, come, my dear,” she said, “don’t cry; take your dog into your own room if you like, and then come and have your dinner; I have been waiting for you some time.”

Leon, consoled by these words, led Faraud into his room, put down a cushion out of one of the armchairs for him to lie on, and in an easier frame of mind went into the dining-room to his mamma.

CHAPTER X.

WHAT HE LIKES.

Leon ate his dinner with good appetite, for his aerial trip had made him somewhat hungry; but the whole of dinner-time he was tormented but with one idea.

“I forgot to ask the princess what I ought to feed my dog on. Must I treat him as a bird or a dog? give him birdseed or a bone to pick? If I had him here, I should soon see whether he would eat bread; I would try.”

Whilst in the midst of these reflections, a great uproar was heard in the house; every servant seemed to be up in arms.

“Rascal! thief!” they cried out, “will you be

off? nasty creature!” and all sorts of hard words besides.

Madame de Cherville rang the bell to learn the cause of all this confusion.

“Madame,” said the footman, “cook is in a dreadful rage; Mr. Leon’s dog has just stolen two cutlets.”

“0, I’m so glad!” cried Leon; “I know now what he likes; and I—”

“Why, I could have told you that, you silly boy,” cried Madame de Cherville, laughing; “and if you had asked me, we might have saved the cutlets into the bargain.”

Leon, observing that they were running after his dog about the courtyard, hastened to the rescue; and having caught him, shut him up in his room, and locked the door, so as to prevent his getting out a second time.

Thus enlightened about what the flying dog would eat, Leon from that time no longer thought of treating him like a canary. He took, great care of him, and liked him better every day.

He waited with impatience for the coming of autumn; he was desirous of seeing the days draw in, so as not to be seen when taking his flight into the clouds. The fairy had particularly recommended him not to fly during the daytime, unless at her own palace; and even there only from the lawn round the pavilion. In that vast and solitary garden, and where besides he was protected by the fairy’s power, he was sheltered from all eyes; but any other spot would have been dangerous.

N

Leon, therefore, went almost daily to the princess’s, followed by the flying dog;, which was the subject of the most disagreeable remarks from people on the road.

“What an ugly wretch!” some would say; “did you ever see an uglier creature in your life?”

“Well, there’s no accounting for tastes!” another would observe; “when there’s such a quantity of pretty dogs, to have a thing like that!”

“Why, my child’s mongrel is prettier than he is I”‘

“It’s a kind of poodle,” said a countryman with contempt.

“You’re a poodle!” answered his wife; “Tom’s is a poodle; but it’s a very different thing- to that ugly beast.”

Leon consoled himself for these humiliating remarks on his arrival at the fairy’s: scarce had he mounted his dog, and risen with him into the air, when he forgot all these petty insults; he was too high to hear them any longer.

By degrees he accustomed himself to see his treasure unknown and overlooked; and his dog, whose merit he alone was acquainted with, only became dearer to him from that circumstance.

CHAPTER XI.

A FRIEND.

But Leon’s friend Henry, the young gentleman who boasted a stick-up collar and boots, was ex

The Spinster’s Poodle (Google Books)

Spinster
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Suzanne G. Rogers – 2018 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
Except for her family, nothing awaited her there except to embrace the role of spinster. She picked up the offer … Wasn’t it de rigueur for lonely spinsters to sightsee in Paris or Milan with a poodle on the end of a leash? A surge of melancholy …
Spinster Tales and Womanly Possibilities – Page 41
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Naomi Braun Rosenthal – 2012 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
In the early years, under Knapp’s editorship, spinsters were generally discussed obliquely rather than directly. … a walk, feed the poodle and parrot, visit the poor people and give them tracts and marmalade, come home to lunch, embroider …
The Spinster at Home, in the Close of Salisbury: No Fable. Together …
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Miss Child – 1845 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
… each evil report, Which told of the mischiefs she wrought day by day, And how evil sprites did her bidding obey. Her grimalkin was black, and her poodle was white, In the form of a hare she took so much delight; LES SOIREES DANSANTES.
The Black Poodle and Other Tales – Page 212
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F. Anstey – 1884 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
It may be in some degree owing to this necessity that, ever since Humfrey de Catafalque’s diabolical testament first took effect, every maiden of our House has died a spinster.’ (Here Chlorine hid her face with a low wail.) ‘In 1770.it is true, one …
Puck – Volume 3 – Page 5
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1878 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
She guards the F. P. diligently, and rescues it from quarrel over his property, confides to Jane Wierum, danger and the designs of other dogs. (It will be observed spinster, his fortune, on condition that she will take charge of his Favorite Poodle.
The Slanderers – Page 36
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Warwick Deeping – 1904 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
Blanche declared that a spoiled child was like a spinster’s poodle — an animal that always had the best chair, clawed the visitor’s clothes, and yelped eternally for cake.” ‘ ‘ Excellent ! excellent ! ‘ ‘ “Mrs. Marjoy glared.” “Heaven be thanked!
Toilers and Spinsters: And Other Essays – Page 87
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Anne Thackeray Ritchie – 1874 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
… distant purple haze, a calm blue sky and fleecy clouds, and close at hand a grassy glade with cathedral branches, a young lady, a black retriever and a white poodle, all of which George Geith notices as he walks along the path, ‘through the …
Toilers and spinsters; and other essays – Page 100
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Anne Thackeray Ritchie – 1890 – ‎Read
trees, distant purple haze, a calm blue sky and fleecy clouds, and close at hand a grassy glade with cathedral branches, a young lady, a black retriever and a white poodle, all of which George Greith notices as he walks along the path, …
Lacy’s acting edition of plays, dramas, farces and extravagances, …
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Poodle. I can’t. Emily. Why not ? Poodle. I have sworn to remain a bachelor — you do the same. Emily. What? remain a bachelor? Poodle. Yes. No, no — a spinster 1 mean. Besides, 1 have a sixty years’ lease on my chambers, renewable at …
The American Kennel Gazette – Volume 49, Part 1 – Page 21
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1932 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
For the world’s purpose, it is believed that it will be just as well to look upon our wooly or corded poodle friends, as among the dogs … Many years ago, an elderly spinster used to exhibit these remarkable dogs in and around London, England.

The Spinster at Home, in the Close of Salisbury: No Fable. Together with …
By Miss Child
About this book

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238 “AND YET AGAIN WONDERFUL ”’

And also that Witches are quite out of fashion,
In times I now write of some folks had a passion
For being witch-finders, and did wretches to death
To abolish their power to stop the life’s breath
Of pigs, or fat turkeys, of chickens and geese,

Or to act as a bane to humanity’s peace.

XIX.

One poor woman of eighty,+Ann Bodenham by name,
Was here tried and condemn’d, very much to the shame
Of the Chief Baron Wild, who presided in court,
And most fully gave heed to each evil report,
Which told of the mischiefs she wrought day by day,
And how evil sprites did her bidding obey.
Her grimalkin was black, and her poodle was white,

In the form of a hare she took so much delight;

LES SOIREES DANSANTES. 239

She danced reels in that semblance great part of each night,
While her dog and pet cat, full of action and grace,
With the hare’s nimble movements kept time and due pace.
A black imp play’d the fiddle with marvellous goût,
And when the dance ended, through the ceiling it flew;
Such vast wonders she work’d by that figure of eight,
Those who went to bed crooked, rose next morning straight.
Now, perchance, some may think there was very slight harm
When a hump was removed, though by witchery’s charm:
But she wrought vice versá, in changeable mood,
And to rise a hunch-back no one e’er could think good:
So much evil she did, both by day and by night,
That the judge gave commission to hang her out-right.
Many others there were who alike shared this fate,
And juries believed they befriended the state,
When they turn’d a deaf ear to the wretches malign’d,

And to this fearful doom their sad victims consign’d.

END OF CANTO FIFTH.

CANTO SIXTH,

“No ceremony that to great ones ‘longs,
Not the King’s crown, nor the deputed sword,
The Marshal’s truncheon, nor the Judge’s robe,
Become them with one half so good a grace,
As mercy does.”
SHARESPEARE.

“ — All the clouds that lower’d upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths,
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments:
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings;
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged War hath smooth’d his wrinkled front.”

The Great Lone Land – Page 24
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William Francis Butler – 2014 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
WHEN a city or a nation has but one military memory, it clings to it with all the afi’ectionate’tenacity of an old maid for her solitary poodle or_ parrot. Boston— supreme over any city in the Republic—can boast of possessing one military …
The Peterson Magazine – Volumes 53-54 – Page 345
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1868 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
I’m going to marry for love, or die an old maid. … one deep, bass bark, li-ke sight; and Mr. Legard’s face would have been distant thunder, and which etfectually drowned a pretty sure letter of recommendation to him the yelps of the poodles.
The Celibates’ Club: Being the United Stories of the Batchelors’ …
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Israel Zangwill – 1911 – ‎No preview
Reminiscences of an Old Squatter – Page 75
https://books.google.com.ph/books?id=_qI_AQAAMAAJ

Robert Bruce – 1973 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
… station Richard got a good deal more civilised provender than was given him, consequently he was fat and glossy as an old maid’s poodle and certainly one of the consumedest nuisances that was ever invented and brought to perfection.
Dogs are Company – Page 52
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Hans Georg Bentz – 1954 – ‎Snippet view
To begin with we’ve got a dog already, and to go on with — well, a poodle, all got up with a long wig and one of those idiotic tasselled tails, isn’t it a bit of an old maid’s kind of dog?” “Do you mean to imply that I am an old maid?” “Do you mean …
Discourses of Ageing in Fiction and Feminism: The Invisible Woman
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J. King – 2012 – ‎Preview – ‎More editions
Hence the cat, the parrot, and the poodle, are connected popularly with arid virginity’ (p. 174). … ‘Old Maid’ was, moreover,aterm of abuse which could beapplied relatively indiscriminately to any single woman. It both undermined any claimsto …
Old Maids Remember – Page 32
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Angela Du Maurier – 1966 – ‎Snippet view
Sun is the virginal beauty. Not far from me lives a very handsome mastiff named Jasper. He is the size of a rather large Shetland pony, and is worshipped by an Aberdeen lassie who lies in his arms, and by two French poodle Mesdemoiselles.
Attack poodles and other media mutants: the looting of the news in a …
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James Wolcott – 2004 – ‎Snippet view
… if you’re in a candlelight mood, gender presentation — enters the equation and becomes ammo for the attack poodles. … Iran hostage stalemate, Jimmy Carter was called an old maid by his detractors, and his postpresidential peace efforts …
Peterson’s Magazine of Art, Literature and Fashion
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Greatly relieved at seeing the dangerous poodle shut up with his mistress, the timid Polly was herself again, and went to Mr. … Miss Pendyke—for that was the old maid’s name—seemed highly pleased at this indication of tender respect, on the …
Museum of Foreign Literature and Science – Volume 8 – Page 422
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Poodle. r . 422 whose good-will was not to be won by gentleness—reflecting at the same time that the continual …. Apropos : in an old newspaper which I picked up the other | day, I met with this epigram on an old maid caressing a lap-dog.

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wish he may live to finish what he hath so hap!. begun. I read over the two volumes he as printed with great delight. He seems to favour the opinion of those, who think the circulation of the blood was known to him; in which he errs undoubtedly. “Tis manifest his anatomy was rude, dark, and of little extent; but ’tis also as manifest that he knew very well the effect of the circulation. I must needs say this for Madam Dacier, his wife, though I knew her, by her writings, before I saw her the learnedest woman in Furope, and the true daughter and disciple of Fanaquil Faber; yet her great learning did not alter her genteel air in conversation, or in the least appear in her discourse; which was easy, modest, and nothing affected. “I visited Monsieur Morin, one of the Academie des Sciences, a man very curious in minerals; of which he shewed me some from Siam, as jaspers, onyxes, agates, loadstones, &c. He shewed me also excellent tin ore from Alsace. Also, from France, a great block of a sort of amethyst of two or three hundred weight; some parts of it (for he had several o sawed and polished) were very fine, and ad large spots and veins of a deep coloured violet. It was designed for a pavement in Marchetterie, of which he shewed me a carton drawn in the natural colours. This puts me in mind of a vast amethyst I had seen at London, brought from New Spain, and exposed to sale; it weighed, as I remember, eleven pounds odd ounces, and was most perfectly figured both point and sides, after the manner of a Bristol diamond, or common rock crystal; but this block here was rude and without any shape. “I cannot say much of the meeting of these gentlemen of the Academie Royal des Sciences: there are but few of them; about twelve or sixteen meinbers, all pensioned by the ministers, in some manner or other. They endeavoured in the war time, to have printed monthly transactions or memoirs, after the manner of ours in London; but could not carry them on above two volumes or years; for, without great correspondence, this can hardly be done. And ours is, certainly, one of the best registers that ever was thought on, to preserve a vast number of scattered observations in natural history, which otherwise would run the hazard to be lost, besides the account of learning in printed books. I heard Mr. Oldenburgh say, who began this noble register, that he held correspondence with seventy odd persons, in all parts of the world, and those he saw with others. I asked him what method he used to answer so great a variety of subjects, and such a quantity of letters as he must receive weekly; for I knew he never failed, because I had the honour of his correspondence for ten or twelve years. He told me he made one letter answer another; and that, to be always fresh, he never read a letter before he had pen, ink, and paper ready, to answer it forthwith ; so that the multitude of his letters cloyed him not, or ever lay upon his hands.” The following picture of Madame de Scuderi is very striking. “Amongst the persons of distinction and fame, I was desirous to see Mademoiselle de Scuderie, now ninety-one years of age. Her

mind is yet vigorous, though her body is in ruins. I confess this visit was a perfect mortification, to see the sad decays of nature in a woman once so famous. To hear her talk, with her lips hanging about a toothless mouth and not to be . to command her words from flying abroad at random, puts me in mind of the sibyls uttering oracles, Old women were employed on this errand, and the infant world thought nothing so wise as decayed nature, or nature quite out of order; and preferred dreams before reasonable and waking thoughts. In her closet she shewed me the skeletons of two cameleons, which she had kept near four years alive. In winter she lodged them in cotton; and, in the fiercest weather, she kept them under a ball of copper full of hot water. In her closet she showed me an original of Madame de Maintenon, her old friend and acquaintance, which she affirmed was very like her, and indeed, she was then very beautiful.” With the Marquis d’Hopital, Dr. Lister enjoyed more than one interview. “The Marquis d’Hopital, one of the Academie des Sciences, whom I found not at home, . returned my visit very obligingly. I had a long conversation with him about philosophy an learning; and I perceived, the wars had made them altogether strangers to what had been doing in England. Nothing was more pleasing to him, than to hear of Mr. Isaac Newton’s preferment, and that there were hopes that they might expect something more from him. He expressed a great desire to have the whole set of the Philosophical Transactions brought over, and many other books which he named, but had not yet seen. He told me, it was not possible for them to continue the Monthly Memoirs, as they had done for two years only, because there were very few in number of that society, and had very little correspondence. Indeed, I did inquire, once, of some of that body, why they did not take in more, since there were many deserving men in the city, as I instanced in F. Plumier. They owned he would be an honour to the body; but they avoided to make a precedent for the admission of any regulars whatsoever. I repaid the Marquess his visit. He lives in a fine house, well furnished; the garden pretty, with neat trelliage, wrought with arches and other ornaments. He expressed a great desire to see England, and converse with our mathematicians, whose works he coveted above all things, and had ordered all to be brought him over. His lady, also, is very well studied in the mathematics, and makes one of the learned ladies in Paris; of which number are Madame Dacier, the Duchess of Main, Madame Scuderie, and others whose names I have forgot.” The Doctor’s next visits were paid to the public libraries. It is well known what liberal access to those receptacles of learning is afforded, in Paris, to both foreigners and natives; and it is to be wished that the same spirit prevailed in this country, in regard to her learned institutions. “It is now time to leave the private houses, and to visit the public libraries, and, with them, such persons as are more particularly concerned in the history of learning. Monsieur *; Drouine came to visit me at my lodgings.

returned the visit, the next day, at his apartment, in the College de Boucourt. He had four or five little rooms, well furnished with books. In the biggest he had a collection of catalogues of books, and of all such who had writ the accounts of authors; above three thousand, in all languages. He told me he had studied the history of books, with the utmost application, eighteen years, and had brought his memoirs into a good method: that he had thoughts of printing the first tome this year, which would be of the most ancient authors, Greek and Latin: that he intended to continue them throughout all the succeeding ages, down to our times; which he said he had performed in good part. He shewed me the catalogue of authors, in four very thick folios, alphabetically disposed by family names, under some such title as this, Index Alphabeticus omnium Scriptorum cujuscumque facultatis temporis et linguæ. These came to about a hundred and fifty thousand. He also shewed me his alphabetical memoirs, in sheets, of the authors and books they had writ, and in great forwardmess; and, lastly, the Chronological Catalogue, in which form he intends to print the whole. He is a very civil and well-tempered person, very learned and curious, and of a middle age; fit to continue and finish such a laborious work. I was infinitely obliged to him for his frequent visits.

“Monsieur l’Abbé de Brillac, almoner to the Prince of Conti, very obligingly offered to carr me to the king’s library; but I civilly declined it, for I had been told it was better to make visits by yourself: for no stranger but was very welcome at all times; not only on the days it was publicly open, as it is upon Tuesdays and Fridays.”

In this library, the Doctor had the pleasure of seeing his own work, (Synopsis Conchyleorum,) but as he did not think it was a good impression, he promised to send another copy to the royal library.

“The reader will pardon me the vanity, if I tell him that this book was no inconsiderable

resent, even for so great a prince as the king of p. for that, besides the time it took me up, (ten years at least,) at leisure hours to dis

se, methodize, and figure this part of natural so it could not have been performed by any person else for less than £2000 sterling, of which sum, yet, a great share it stood me in, out of my private purse.”

We cannot afford to accompany Dr. Lister in his perambulations through the various libraries of Paris, which he examined with great diligence, making, at the same time, an acquaintance with their learned keepers. In this manner he became known to Hardouin the Jesuit, Father Daniel Mabelion, the author of the ingenious treatise De re Diplomatica; Clement, ow, Malbranche, and other celebrated schoairs,

In the museum of the library of St. Genevieve, the Doctor saw the ingenious dyes which had been invented to imitate ancient medals.

“Here also we saw the steel dyes of the Paquan brothers, by which they stamped and fal. #ified the best ancient medals so weh, that

they are not to be distinguished but by putting them into those moulds; which makes them very valuable, there being 100 and more of them, and are prized at 10,000 crowns. They stampt upon old medals, whereby the cheat was greater; for, by this means, they were of the ancient metal, had the green coat, and the same ragged edges.” The various manufactories of Paris next attracted the Doctor’s attention. He visited “the Pottery of St. Cloud,” with which he was “marvellously well pleased”—the plate-glass houses, and the Gobelin manufactory, which “ had miserably fallen to decay.” At Hubins, the eye-maker, he saw drawers full of eyes, of all sizes, “admirable for their contrivance to match with great exactness any iris whatsoever : this being a case where mis-matching is intolerable.” Having concluded these scientific researches, the Doctor, towards the termination of his volume, treats of certain matters which are usually first to engage the regards of a st er—the “meat, drink, and diver. sions of the Parisians.” We cannot affirm, that Dr. Martin Lister has discussed these to: pics with all the science and learning which Dr. Kitchiner has bestowed upon them, though he writes with taste and sensibility upon the subject. The diet of the Parisians, he tells us, consists chiefly of bread, herbs, and other vegetables. In discussing the latter, he takes occasion to speak in terms of warm commendation of the “small long turnips,” which are “ most excellent in soups.” Cabbages, he informs us, the French “delight not so much in as he expected;” upon which, the doctor promulgates a curious theory, viz., that the northern people of Europe “much delight in cabbage,” while the southern nations “are pleased with the onion kind.” We believe the theory to be a very correct one: who could prevail upon the Spaniard to exchange his garlic and his onions, |. the sour-crout of the Germans; Like a prudent and sensible man, Dr. Lister, at first, eyed all dishes, in which mushrooms formed an ingredient, with suspicion, and “was very shy of eating them.” At last, however, finding scarcely any ragouts without them, he became pleased with them, and found them very innocent. Others of the embassy had not the same good fortune. “Some of our people, at our first coming, were very sick with cray-fish and muscle-soups, and particularly with ragouts of mushrooms, which, gave them a sudden shortness of breath, and sometimes vomitings, or went off in a dysentery.” On the other viands, our traveller does not enlarge, though he speaks in warn terms of “a macreuse (a kind of sea-fowl) pie, near two foot diameter, which, being high-seasoned, did go down very well with rare burgundy.” These macreuses, by a sort of brevet appointment, ranked as fish, and were eaten in Len’, The Doctor concludes this portion of his labours with a eulogiuin on a marinalado of orange flowers, composed of those flowers, the juice of lemons, and fine sugar, which he says, “indeed was admirable!” A short dissertation on the wines of France, follows, which concludes with a fierce attack upon coffee, tea, and chocolate, which the Doctor believes, “are permitted, by God’s provi

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dence, for lessening the number of mankind, by shortening life, as a sort of silent plague.” “Those that plead for chocolate, say, it gives them a good stomach; if taken two hours before dinner. Right. Who doubts it? You say, you are much more hungry, having drank chocolate, than you had been if you had drank none; that is, your stomach is faint, craving, and feels hollow and empty, and you cannot stay long for your dinner. Things that pass thus soon out of the stomach, I suspect, are little welcome there; and nature makes great haste to get shut of them. There are many things of this sort which impose upon us by procuring a false hunger. “The old Romans did better with this luxury; they took their tea and chocolate after a full meal, and every man was his own cook in that case. Caesar resolved to be free, and eat and drink heartily; that is, to excess with Tully; and for that purpose, Cicero tells his friend Xiti: that .. he lay down to table, emeticen agebat, which I construe, he prepared for himself his chocolate and his tea, something to make a quick riddance of what they eat and drank, some way or other.” We now pass to the recreations of the Parisians. “In the next place, we will see how the Parisians divert themselves; which consist chiefly in plays, gaming, walking, or coaching. The plays are here divided into two houses: one for the operas, and the other for the comedies. I did not see many operas, not being so good a Frenchman as to understand them when sung. “It is to be wondered that these operas are so frequented. There are great numbers of the nobility that come daily to them, and some that can sing them all. And it was one thing, that was troublesome to strangers, to disturb the box by these voluntary songs of some parts of the opera or other; that the spectators may be said to be here, as much actors as those employed upon the very stage. “I heard many tragedies, but without gust, for want of language; but after them, the little plays were very diverting to me, particularly those of Moliere. In this all agree, that. though Moliere’s plays have less of intrigue in them, yet his character of persons are incomparable, so true and just that nothing can be more. And for this reason, so many of them are only of two or three acts; for without an intrigue well laid, the characters would have failed him, in which was his excellency. However, this is now so much become a custom on the French stage, that you ever have one of these little pieces tacked to the tragedy, that you may please yourself according to your appetite. “’Tis said Moliere died suddenly, in acting the Malade. Imaginaire, which is a good instance of his well personating the play he made, and how he could really put himself into any passion he had in his head. Also of the great danger, strong and vehement passions may cause in weak constitutions, such as joy and fear, which history tells us have killed many very suddenly. He is reported to have said, going off the stage, ‘Messieurs, j’ai joué le Malade Imaginaire; mais je suis veritablement fort malade;’ and he died within two

hours after. This account of Moliere is not in his life by Perault, but it is true: and he yet has blamed him for his folly in persecuting the art of physic, not the men, in divers of his plays. “Moliere sent for Dr. M , a physician, in Paris, of great esteem and worth, and now in London a refugé. Dr. M. sent him word he would come to him upon two conditions; the one, that he should answer him only to such questions as he should ask him, and not otherwise discourse with him; the other, that ho should oblige himself to take the medicines he should prescribe for him. But Moliere, finding the doctor too hard for him, and not easily to be duped, refused them. His business, it seems, was to make a comical scene in exposing one of the learnedest men of his profession, as he had done the quacks. If this was his intention, Moliere had as much malice as wit, which is only to be used to correct the viciousness and folly of men, pretending to knowledge, and not the arts themselves.” Thieving appears to have been carried on at Paris in a style of superior magnificence at this period, a pick-pocket attended by four lacqueys in livery : “Knavery here is in perfection as with us, as dexterous cut-purses and pick-pockets. A pick-pocket came into the fair at night, extremely well clad, with four lacqueys in good liveries attending him. He was caught in the fact, and more swords were drawn in his defence than against him: but yet he was taken, and delivered into the hands of justice, which is here sudden, and no jest. “I was surprised at the impudence of a booth, which put out the pictures of some Indian beasts with hard names; and of four that were painted, I found but two, and those very ordinary ones, viz. a leopard and a raccoon. I asked the fellow, why he deceived the people, and whether he did not fear cudgelling in the end ? He answered with a singular confidence, that it was the painter’s fault, that he had given the raccoon to paint to two masters, but both had mistaken the beast; but, however, (he said) though the pictures were not well designed, they did nevertheless serve to grace the booth, and bring him custom.” Dr. Lister concludes his journey “with an account of the gardens near Paris, and with some observations on the state of medical science in France,” which he represents as being “in low condition and disesteem from the boundless confidence, and intruding of quacks, women, and monks.” During his residence at Paris, the doctor received a message from the Prince of Conti to attend his son, and to bring with him “the late King Charles’s drops.” Of this royal medicine we have the following account, with which we take leave of our ingenious traveller. “Those drops were desired of me, by other persons of quality, as the Princess de Espinoy, the Duchess of Bouillon, Monsieur Serac, &c and having bethought myself how my master, the late King Charles, had communicated them to me, and showed me very obligingly the process himself, by carrying me . with him into his laboratory at Whitehall, while it was distilling. Also, Mr. Chevins another time §howed me the materials for the drops, in his apartment, newly brought in, in great quantity, that is, raw silk, I caused the drops to be made here. Also, I put Dr. Turnefort upon making of them, which he did in perfection, by distilling the finest raw silk he could get. For my part, I was surprised at the experiment often repeated, having never tried it before. One pound of raw silk yielded an incredible quantity of volatile salt, and, in proportion, the finest spirit I ever tasted; and that which recommends it is, that it is, when rectified, of a far more pleasant smell than that which comes from sal-ammoniac or hartshorn, and the salt refined and cohobated with any wellscented chemical oil, makes the king’s salt, as it is used to be called. This my lord ambassador gave me leave to present in his name, and the doctor now supplies those which want. Silk, indeed, is nothing else but a dry jelly from the insect kind, and therefore very cordial and stomachic, no doubt. The Arabians were wise, and knowing in the materia medica, have put it in their alkermes.”

From the New Monthly Magazine.

MY AUNT’S POODLE.

My Aunt Margaret has a poodle. It is, unquestionably, the ugliest little beast that ever bore the canine form. Nature has done nothing for it; and this neglect has been aggravated by a variety of accidents. Early in its puppy-days, one of its legs was broken by a fall through the spiral staircase, from the top of the house to the bottom; so that it limps. Its eyes were villamous at the best of times; they were marked by a sly, suspicious, discontented leer, and never looked you honestly in the face. The gave the dog the air of a pickpocket; and I seldom ever met it without instinctively putting my hand to my watch or my purse. Had I any faith in transmigration, I should say that the soul of Bill Soames had passed into the ugly body of my old aunt’s poodle. But as if the natural expression of its eyes had been insuffieient to render the beast hateful, an accident must needs occur to remove all doubt upon the point. Some months ago, the contents of a phial of spirits of hartshorn were overturned into Mr. Lovely’s right eye—(for Lovely is the appropriate name of the exquisite creature)— which said right eye has not only been ever since relieved of the performance of all optical duties, but it has assumed an appearance by no means so agreeable as to warrant a description. Its skin too!—The common saying that “Beauty is but skin deep,” would, in this instance, become a gross exaggeration, for Mr. Lovely’s beauty is not even as deep as that. He is—to make a literal use of another common expression—in a very ugly skin. It is of no imaginable colour—a sort of yellowish-greenish-brown. ish grey—an unearthly, vampire tinge. And here again accident has stept in to make bad, worse. By the upsetting of a caldron of boiling water, the unlucky animal was wofully scalded; and to this hour he bears evidence of

his sufferings, and his miraculous escape from death, in two large, ghastly, pink spots—one on his left side, the other on the nape of his neck—as free from hair as the of your hand. Now, though it would be impossible to like such a mass of ugliness and deformity, yet had it been a well-disposed, kind-hearted, unassuming, gentlemanly …i. a dog of prepossessing manners, respectable habits, decent conduct, and unimpeachable morals; or were it remarkable for its talents and accomplishments; one might, upon all or any of these accounts, and in consideration of its sufferings, have pitied and endured it. But, no: as it is the ugliest, so is it the worst of created beasts: sulky, snarling, savage, and sneaking; thankless and dissatisfied; as arrant a thief as a magpie, as finished a blackguard as a butcher’s cur; and for accomlishments—it could not sit upon its hinder o pick up a penny-piece, or fetch a handkerchief across the room, were either of those feats to be made its benefit of clergy. It may be asked: Why be at the pains of describing so worthless a beast?—Because the beast, worthless as it is, is the sole arbiter of the destinies of the only remaining representatives of three ancient houses—the Noland’s, the Thwaites’s, and the Briggs’s. Besides the beast has a clear income of twelve hundred |. a year; or, which is the same thing, he as the disposal of it. Yesterday was ny old Aunt Margaret’s birthday, when, as usual, all the members of her family were invited to dine with her. Poor Jack Noland and myself are her only immediate relations; the Briggs’s (consisting of Mr. and Mrs. B. with their son and daughter, Pomponius and Julia) and Miss Priscilla Thwaites (a maiden lady of fifty-seven) being merely first cousins to her late husband. The assertion that all the members of my Aunt Margaret’s family were invited to dine with her, requires some modification: nothing more must be understood by it than all such as enjoy the honour of Mr. Lovely’s patronage, and have been wise enough to keep terms with him; for, besides the seven persons enumerated, there are fifteen others, who, owing to various offences committed by them against the peace and dignity of the rascally little poodle, are now no more considered by my Aunt Margaret as her relations, than Prester John. Now, since Aunt Margaret, as Jack Noland very sensibly observed to me the other day, cannot carry her money with her to the grave, it must be evident that the prospects of us seven who still continue in favour, are improved by the removal of the unfortunate Rfteen ; but, in proportion as our places are more valuable, our duties, our cares, and our anxieties are more oppressive. The brute seems to be perfectly aware of this; he appears to have studied our dislikes and antipathies for the fiendish pleasure of exciting them; and he takes a diabolical delight in tormenting us to within an inch of the forfeiture of our legacies. He is perhaps more circumspect in his conduct towards me than towards the other expectants; for I long ago gave him a lesson which he has not yet quite forgotten. I am not of a very enduring temper; and finding Mr. Lovely, upon whose caprices my hopes depended, to be a dog

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whose good-will was not to be won by gentleness—reflecting at the same time that the continual annoyance he inflicted upon me, might one day or other force me beyond the bounds of prudence, provoke me to retaliate, and thereby cost me dearly—I resolved upon a decisive but dangerous measure, with a view to secure myself against his future aggressions. It was simply this: one morning, during my Aunt Margaret’s absence, in acknowledgment of an inhospitable growl at m entrance, and a manifest intention to bite, flogged him in such a way as perfectly astonished him. He has ever since behaved to me as well as such a dog can behave. But yesterday was, as poor Jack Noland forcibly described it, “a tremendous day for us all, and be d–d to the dog.”—Jack, by the way, is the poor cousin of our family, whose duty it is to love and admire us all, to be of every body’s way of thinking but his own, to execute all the disagreeable commissions of the family, and patiently bear the reproach when any thing #. wrong—“Ah, there again! ’tis Jack’s ult, no doubt.” But Jack possesses many good qualities, and is a pleasant fellow when he is allowed to expand. But a stern look of the Briggs’s, or a sneer of Miss Priscilla, will freeze the jest that is glowing at the very tip of his tongue: in which case Jack will watch an epportunity of taking me aside—for Jack and I are the best friends in the world—and after a moment of most expressive silence, and with a smile which indicates his relish of his own wit, bestow upon me, after the following fashion, the entire benefit of some piece of pleasantry which he had intended for the whole party. “I say, Tom; I’ll tell you what I meant to say —so and so—and I don’t think it so bad; do you, Tomo” But to return—not one of us but, at some momentor other, saw our hopes of inheritance dangling by a single thread. But, in order that our sufferings and our dansers may be fairly appreciated, it must be stated, that Mr. and Mrs. Briggs dislike dogs generally, Lovely in particular; Pomponius Briggs and Miss Julia Briggs inherit the family aversion to the canine species, with the superaddition of a peculiar dislike of poodles beyond all ether dogs, and of my Aunt Margaret’s Lovely beyond all other possible poodles; Miss Priss, the fifty-seven-year-old maiden cousin, loathes the very sight of Lovely, and hates it most devoutly, simply upon the true old-maiden principle—because it happens to be a favourite with Aunt Margaret; poor Jack and myselfare

the only two of the family who do not enter

tain a sweeping dislike of all dogs, yet we partake of the general aversion to Lovely, and hate him with heart and soul, for the reason that the dog is an unamiable dog. In a word, not one of us but is a deadly foe to the animal, and would hang or drown it—if we dared.

Within one hour of dinner-time we were all

assembled in my Aunt Margaret’s drawingroom. After she had received our felicitations, and listened to our wishes that she might enjoy many happy returns of the day, Jack o whispered in my ear, “Of course, Tom, we don’t mean too many.” She burst into tears; lamented to see so few of her relations about her upon such a day; regretted that the misconduct

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of the absentees (towards Mr. Lovely, be it understood) had compelled her to have done with them for ever; declared that she had altered her will in our favour, and hinted that she was mistress to alter it again if she should see cause Of this edifying discourse, which lasted till dinner was announced, the text was “Love ine, love my Dog,” and the obvious moral, “Look to your Legacies.” It was not without its ef. fect; and Lovely, who seemed to understand the intention of it, occasionally bent his evil eye upon each of us, with a look of villanous exultation. Old Briggs whistled the dog to. wards him; Pomponius drew a collar for the “little rogue” from his pocket; Julia and Mamma each patted the “pretty fellow;” and then turned aside,with a look of disgust,to dabble their fingers with Eau de Cologne; “Come hither, pretty poodle,” said Miss Priscilla, holding out some sugar-plums which she had “bought on purpose for the dear dog;” poor Jack Noland volunteered to give the “little fellow” a washi in the Serpentine next Sunday; whilst I vehemently swore that Lovely grew prettier and prettier every day. Here Jack Noland drew me aside, and, assuming a ludicrous swag. er of independence, said: “I tell you what, #. : this slavery is no longer to be borne;” adding, in his dry way, “Only we must bear o know.” t dinner we had not a moment’s peace. The reptile was either jumping upon us, and growling till he had extorted from us the choicest morsel on our plates, or worrying us into a fever by snapping at our legs under the table; evidently with an intention to provoke us to the commission of some outrage upon him, which might draw down upon our heads the displeasure of Aunt Margaret. Presently, in o spite, he ran yelping to his mistress, as if e had been hurt, although I am persuaded no one had touched him. “How can you be so cruel to the poor dumb beast f” said Miss Pris. cilla; unjustly and ill-naturedly singling out the family scape-goat, poor Jack Noland, for the question. Reproaches were showered upon poor Jack from all quarters, who bore them— together with a pretty smart lecture from Aunt Margaret, and a hint about every shilling of her money being at her own disposal—with silence and resignation. Jack had, however, the good fortune to repair the error he had not commit. ted by the lucky application of an epigram he had lately read, which afforded him an opportunity of conveying a pretty compliment to Mr. Lovely, highly gratifying to my old aunt, and at the same time of revenging himself by a sly, but desperate hit at Miss Priscilla. Perceiving her fondling the detested poodle, “…ipropos,” said Jack—the apropos was, eertainly, somewhat too severe—“..Apropos : in an old newspaper which I picked up the other | day, I met with this epigram on an old maid caressing a lap-dog.” There was an awful 5. and Priscilla let the dog gently down ack resumed :

“Rusa, I’m not astonish’d in the least,
That thou should’st licksodainty, clean a beast,
But that so dainty, clean a beast licks thee —
That surprises me!”
A dead silence succeeded, which was only

interrupted by my Aunt Margaret desiring Jack to ring for coffee.—This was the first time in my life I had ever known Jack to do a savage thing; and as we were returning to the drawing-room, he endeavoured to justify himself in my opinion, by whispering to me, “It was rather hard, to be sure, Tom; but I don’t think Cousin Priss will be in a hurry again to try and get me cut off with a shilling on account of that rascally poodle.” The rain was pouring in torrents; and the “rascally poodle,” who, to add to his natural attractions, had been scampering about the muddy grounds, came dripping into the drawing-room. In this interesting condition, he ran from one to another (carefully avoiding my Aunt Margaret,) squeezing himself between our legs, and jumping into our laps. The fortitude with which the attack was borne by us all, and the heroic control we maintained over our feelings, were astonishing. It is probable that Aunt Margaret’s reprimand of Jack Noland, and her hint about every shilling of her money being at her own disposal, may have contributed to strengthen our nerves. My first impulse certainly was to toss the mongrel out of the window; but, considering that a good four hundred a-year (for which, I know, I am down in the will) might be tossed out along with him, I contented myself by affecting a laugh at the “unceremonious little gentleman,” as I called him, and, with my cambric pocket-handkerchief, smearing the mud over my white silk stockings till they were dry. Noland and Pomponius Briggs followed my example; Pomponius, as he was making bad worse by scrubbing his white kerseymeres, muttering, “Two-poundten, by jingo!” Mr. Briggs senior swore he was the most fortunate man breathing, for it would not show much upon black. Mrs. Briggs, whose French pink sarsnet dress was ruined for ever, merely simpered out, “Well, it cannot be helped.” Miss Julia Briggs, like her papa, congratulated herself upon her good fortune; for, being dressed in white muslin, which would wash, “it didn’t inuch signify.” And Miss Priscilla, whose saffron-coloured white satin dress, which never saw the light except on state occasions, such as the present, and which was now in a condition to set at defiance the utmost magic of the scourer, asseverated, as she walked towards the window to conceal her tears, that “it did not signify the least in the world.” When Mr. Lovely had thoroughly cleaned himself by his visits to us, he ventured to approach his mistress. “I am fearful,” said my aunt, patting This back, for he was now perfectly dry, “I am fearful Lovely has been rather troublesome.” It was now who should be foremost to assure Aunt Margaret that, so far from being troublesome, nothing, in our opinion, could be more delightful than his good-natured playfulness, nothing more entertaining than his innocent frolics; and that in every possible respect, Lovely was, incontestably, and beyond all means of comparison, the sweetest dog in the universe. My Aunt Margaret’s property is all funded; and of her twelve hundred a-year, she regularly lays by two-thirds. This we happen to know. P*.

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The Celibates’ Club: Being the United Stories of The Bachelors’ Club and The …
By Israel Zangwill
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“Hush! you ’11 disturb M’Gullicuddy’s snoring!” I said softly. “Cannot you get all these things as a Bachelor?”

“Impossible! Have I not already explained to you how my literary life has been one long fraud? No, I must have some one to supplement me, to supply all those ingredients of the novel which O’Eoherty lacks: beasts, birds, fishes, flowers”

“Spare me the catalogue,” I cried severely, “I understand.”

“I knew you would,” he returned, a slight misapprehension of my meaning bringing a grateful look into his worried eyes. “You see, to a Cockney like myself Nature is utterly unknown. I lack that rural education without which the modern novelist has no chance. It was all very well for a Dr. Johnson to say, ‘Sir, let us take a walk down Fleet Street!’ In his day Nature had not been invented. There were certain stock adjectives which you had to get up—’ azure sky,’ ‘russet leaves,’ ‘pearly cloud,’ ‘translucent brook.’ Once you knew these married couples that went out together as invariably as Homer’s Juno with her ‘ oxeyed’ cavalier, you were set up as a writer. That long catalogue of a poet’s stock-in-trade which convinced Easselas that it was useless for him to apprentice himself to the muse, was a mere flight of Johnson’s imagination, intended to crack up the calling in which he was then an acknowledged master. To-day it is a sober reality, and is even more necessary for the novelist than for the poet, who can always veil himself in the obscurities of misty magnificence. Ah, it was a bad day for writers when those ancient couples were divorced; when for the marriages made in the classics were substituted the laxer alliances of individual preference, and for the good old permanence of conjoint relation, the haphazard and transient associations of modern free selection. It is a flux and chaos of conjunctions at best, and in the looser literature of the French decadence it leads to the most extravagant matches of substantives and epithets. There is no adjective so degraded that it may not hope to mate with the most proper of nouns; no noun so common that it may not find itself in at least temporary association with the most aristocratic of adjectives. Nay, so far has this derangement of epithets gone, that I have known unprincipled writers wed words that belong to different castes, and talk of strawberry-coloured symphonies and symphonic strawberries.”

He paused for want of breath, and I fetched him a pick-me-up.

“Where was I?” he asked, when he had gulped it down.

“Symphonic strawberries,” I observed. But he had lost the thread.

“Well, anyhow, as I was saying, the modern novelist has a hard time of it. He is expected to know all things in heaven and earth and in the waters beneath the earth. The miserable impostors who were first in the field went and corrupted the reading public by showering down omniscience from a cornucopia. Of course it was all faked; they crammed up as much about hunting, and shooting, and fishing, and burgling, and will-making, and gardening, and painting, and sailing, and climbing, and banking, and bee-keeping; as much dialect, slang, idiom, proverb, local colour, history, tradition, and superstition, as was wanted for each book; and before the book had gone to press it was all clean wiped off their memories, which had reverted to their original omnescience. (Excuse the neologism, but the language wants the word badly). By this sort of behaviour the beggars have set up a standard which is simply unattainable by an honest man; not to mention that they have snapped up all the best things of their successors. Analyse the average modern novel. What do you find?” I made no effort to find anything, but he struggled with his waistcoat pocket and produced a scrap of paper, from which he read aloud :—

per cent, per cent.

Scenery (including botany), . . 15 per cent.

Journeys, foreign phrases, manners and

customs, . . . .11

Birds, beasts, and fishes, . . .10

Scientific, musical, artistic, historical, and

literary allusions or quotations,
Descriptions of dress, . .

Theology and ethics (new),
Plot, ….

Ordinary natural dialogue,
Grammatical and other blunders, .
Portraits of hero and heroine,
Character-drawing,. . .

Wit and humour, . . .

Unanalysable residua, . .

Total, Three Vols., . . .100 per cent.

10

10

10

10

8

6

4

2

per cent.

per cent.

per cent.

per cent.

per cent.

per cent.

per cent.

per cent. O’OOS per cent. 3’992 per cent.

I was about to dispute the accuracy of this decomposition, but he went on :—

“This analysis is at once the cause and excuse of my marriage. Once I had arrived at these results I felt that I was a doomed man. You will per- *> ceive that nearly half a vol. of a modern novel must be

composed of scenery. In addition to my being unable to tell an oak from an acorn, or a gentian bush from a gillyflower, or a field of oats from a gorse-clad common, or an elder from Susannah, I am colour-blind. Moreover, I have no interest in the sunset, and am never up late enough to witness the sunrise. The sight of the sea is as sickening to me as if I were on it. What people can see to rave over in a magnified wash-hand basin I have never been able to understand. You smile. You remember my much-praised apostrophe to the ocean in Betwixt the Gloaming and the Nether Sea. I have no wish to disguise from you the pricks of conscience. But I must live. I tell my conscience so, and point out that if I were to die it would perish too. To keep my conscience alive, I steal.”

“Steal ?” I echoed, ” steal what?”

“Haven’t I told you ?—trees, flowers, sunsets, birds, beasts—all’s fish that comes to my net,” said O’Roherty. “What can a poor Cockney do? Take the second item.. I recognise a horse, a dog, a sheep, a mackerel, a cow, a cock, an elephant, an earthworm, a sparrow, a donkey, a butterfly, an eel, a baby, and a few other animals. But even with dogs I can’t tell a dachshund from a poodle, though I give my old maids poodles and my heroes dachshunds; I know that a Scotch terrier is the same fore and aft, but that is only because of Blight’s famous comparison of it to the Fourth Party. Allusions I can manage fairly well with the help of encyclopaedias. I dip at random into omniscience and garnish my dialogue with whatever comes up. I make pot-shots at a volume of poems and ornament my chapters with the spoils. As for dress, I am hopelessly lost. These superficial details are infinitely wearisome to me; in real life my eye goes straight for the psychological essence of a situation, and I have a soul above buttons. Unfortunately the soul of the British public is beneath them. And sometimes I feel that there is something in frocks after all. When I create a nice heroine I don’t like the girl to dress dowdily. It spoils her charm. When all is said, she is my own child and I don’t want her to look gawky and blame the old man. I am not stingy, I want her to dress as magnificently as possible. But my own ignorance sets up sumptuary laws, and the poor thing comes off but scantily. I don’t know what to put on her—muslins, silks, a sealskin jacket, my wardrobe contains little else. In the end I am reduced to stealing from the fashion-plates, and Myra alone knows what a mull I make of it. For you see I can use the descriptions but warily, the nomenclature has grown so beastly technical that I am afraid to venture. I can’t tell a description of a costume from a dinner menu. What gold galloon, or blue broche’, or jet passementerie, or basques, or toreadore hats, or silk lisse, or moire”, or pink chiffon, or filoselle, or bengaline, or festooned skirts, may be, I haven’t the faintest idea, but all my heroines wear them and look natty in them. I can only hope that they are not indecent. But I can’t expect immunity for ever. Some day I shall introduce a halfclad virgin to a respectable dinner party and then the book will sell by tens of thousands.”

His tones trembled sadly into silence. I could offer him but cold comfort. He went on :—

“I must learn these words if I would avoid such popularity. There’s no such word as faille in the dictionary of the male novelist. But he has got to admit it. Faille is

Old maids; their varieties, characters, and conditions
By Old maids
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Old maids; their varieties, characters, and conditions
By Old maids
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“All a mother’s pains and benefits
To laughter and contempt, to make her feel
How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is—
To have a thankless child.”—’

No, the better and purer portions still live, and will bear ‘golden fruit,’ when freed from the crust of lava, in which the world’s coldness has shrouded them.—Let this barrier be removed— and the Old Maid will show that the fire, though hidden, is not extinguished,—that the sacred lamp still burns, purified from its more earthly qualities, though it no longer blazes with that intensity of passion, which makes the heart sick with its longings.

She looks back upon her youthful desires and hopes, as upon the memory of an intoxicating dream, filled with visions of happiness and of unutterable delight, and which the waking realities of life have long since convinced her, were indeed but visions.— She looks abroad upon those who entered the career of existence with her, and she beholds a mingled picture of joy and woe. On the one hand—the emaciated cheek, the tottering step, and the hollow and sunken eye, proclaim the victim of indulged happiness.—On the other—the compressed lip, and the contracted brow, speak of blighted affection, or despised love.—On a third—the young mother hangs over the couch of her first-born, and best beloved—wearying Heaven with vain prayers, that the innocent sufferer may be spared to her doating heart, till she is borne away frantic and insensible from the death-bed of her darling child.—On another—she beholds love turned to the most implacable hatred, her friend converted into a fiend, the husband into a cruel and tyrannous master, or dark suspicion and unfounded jealousy, riving both heart and brain, and rendering love a horrible “Oh, Jealousy—thou raging ill,

Why hast thou fouud a place in lover’s hearts?
Afflicting what thou can’st not kill,

And poisoning Love himself, with his own darts.*

On all sides she sees strife, dissention, and misery,—warm hearts chilled,—bright eyes dimmed,— beauty wasted,—love destroyed,—the canker-worm of care nestling in cheeks, every dimple of which was once the strong-hold of Cupid,—’ hopes and fears that kindle hopes,’ crushed and blasted—minds once redolent of every thing sweet and blessed in nature, now a chaos of ruin and desolation. Such are the sights that meet the Old Maid, and happy should she be, that she has escaped from toils and snares so fearful and destructive.

But her life is the oais of the desert—her heart is a welling fountain of the purest sympathies—her home is sheltered by the palm-trees of content—and she treads her little round of existence on a verdant carpet, chequered with light and shade, and ‘damask’d with crocus, hyacinth and violet in rich inlay,’—For her—

“No blasts e’re discompose the peaceful sky,
The springs but murmur, and the winds but sigh.”

If she does not taste those delights which flow from happy marriage (and there are many such), when two individuals with moderate desires, and virtuous and well-tempered wishes, combine to produce * one harmony of bliss,’ she invariably shows how correctly she estimates so delightful a consummation,—for where household harmony does reign, there may the Old Maid be found in all her glory, mingling sweet with sweet, and her heart and affections expanding beneath its genial infIuence.—Domestic strife is a Tartarus from which she flies, it is a plague-spot, warning her to depart—but if a father or mother has reached the extreme verge of senility, there she may be seen hovering like a guardian angel, developing in this trying emergency all her treasured affections, and lavishing them on insensible or querulous old age, with all the vigor, the tenderness, and devotedness of a young bride, watching over the shattered health of an adored husband.

Such, gentle reader, is an Old Maid. Acknowledge that thou hast done her great injustice— that thou hast viewed her as a selfish, envious, ill-natured, affected, credulous and curious creature, a fit object for mirth, a standing family jest, suited only to play a conspicuous part at funerals and births, and having none of the finer sympathies which thou supposest to be locked in thine own breast. Acknowledge that thou hast considered a relation, if an Old Maid, and poor, as suited to a by-corner in thy domicile, there condemned to spend her time in darning old clothes,
and knitting stockings or ‘comfortables,’ as the ‘ame damnee’ of thy family, a licensed plaything for thy children, and nurse-general for thyself, thy wife, and thy offspring.—That if rich, thou hast invited her to set dinners and card-parties; hast permitted thy young hopefuls to visit her but rarely, and then with an especial injunction to avoid treading on the cat’s-tail, choking her parrot with apricot-stones, or lengthening the tail of her pet poodle, by appending thereto an addition, in the shape of an old can or kettle,— to shun her china cabinet, to meddle not with the ‘little monsters’ on her mantel-piece, to wipe their shoes twice before entering her drawing-room, to keep their plates well under their chins, when seated at table, lest gravy or plum should escape upon her * snow-white napery,’ and threatening death and destruction to Tom and Mary, if they amuse themselves with pulling faces, and * doing the pretty,’ to imitate their Aunt’s peculiarities; an intimation which, it is ten to one, the mischievous monkeys overlook—as thou art conscious; friend, that such is a favorite pastime of thine own, and thy spouse’s at home—notwithstanding thou hast been twice saved from jail, by Sister Margaret’s generosity, and that two of thy oldest children are now at a respectable boarding-school, the expense of which is borne by the same selfish and ill-natured Old Maid. Or, can’st thou gainsay this, by charging Aunt Jane with stinginess and affectation, because she resides in a small cottage, and supports herself in decency and comfort, on her annuity of fifty pounds per annum. Look, gentle reader, on ‘ this picture and on that,—’ is it not ‘ Hyperion to a Satyr;’ and blush for having considered an Old Maid as something that she is not.

Dear amiabilities! can we wonder that you are kind nurses—or that you are fond of cats, dogs, b

parrots and Chinese monsters? Is it not thus that you are forced to display your pent-up sensibilities? Something you must love—your hearts are overflowing with milk and honey; but mankind, blind to your amiable qualities, meet your advances, as if their most deadly enemies were making covert approaches to destroy their sanctuaries.

This is prejudice—fatal and perverse prejudice—and it is our task to display you in your natural colors; we will show you as beings to be loved and cherished; the screen that has separated you from the world shall be removed—you shall assume your place in society, stainless and pure as you are, ‘les sceurs de la chastite”;’ old and young shall welcome you, and henceforward, no tinge of shame shall steal over your cheeks at being greeted as Old Maids

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CHAPTER IV.

‘* Ut sit virginitas aurum, castitas argentum, jugalitas, oeraiuentum; ut sit virginitas divitis, castitas mediocritas, jugalitas captiritas; ut sit virginitas sol, castitas luna, jugalitas tenebrse; ut stt virginitas dies, castitas aurora, jugalitaa oox.”—P. Adusl: Lib: Db Vibg,

Firs* in honor and in place come the Voluntary Old Maids—those, who, having birth, beauty, accomplishments and opportunity, have, of their own free will, clothed themselves in white. A noble bevy—with contemplative brows—eyes of subdued brilliancy—and a lofty bearing, denoting a consciousness of their claims to distinguished honor.

And thou, fair maiden, upon whom thirty-five summer suns have already shone, each one in succession maturing some new charm; well hast thou earned thy title to the name of Voluntary Old Maid.—Art thou not beautiful? yea beautiful exceedingly ?—and is there not within thy dark and lustrous eye, the very temple of love ?—art thou not a—

“Bright star of beauty, on whose eyelids sit
A thousand nymph-like and enamor’d graees?”

and does not thy soft smile tell—

“Thoughts of young love—?”

Yes thou art a gem, peerless in thy loveliness.—• The very sun-shine of delight dwells on thy features, and thy bosom throbs with hopes and

Stories of an Old Maid: Related to Her Nephews and Nieces
By Mme Emile de Girardin
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possessing a marvel, to suffer anxiety on account of it: a beautiful object is always in danger.

Madame de Cherville kissed her son tenderly on his return.

“At last,” she said, “you have come back; I began to be uncomfortable about your long absence. Now, tell me, have you been much amused? what have you been doing at the princess’s?”

Leon was at a loss to answer this question, because he could not do so openly and frankly.

“I breakfasted,” he replied.

“Well, and after that?—you have not been breakfasting all day?”

“I have had tea and coffee.”

“From nine o’clock in the morning till five in the afternoon! you must have had two or three dozen cups then, at least,” said Madame de Cherville with a smile.

“0, I have not been so long at breakfast as all that,” Leon replied; “we walked about the conservatories and in the garden—and I have been running about—and playing—”

“What nasty dog is that ?” interrupted Madame de Cherville; “it surely is not the one you have chosen? Dear me, how ugly he is! my poor Leon, the princess has been making fun of you.”

As Leon could not mention all the talents his dog possessed, he would have greatly preferred not talking about him at all; but when he heard his mother speak of the extraordinary animal so insultingly, he could not bear it.

“0, mamma, if you could only see how he— runs!” he exclaimed, “you would no longer think him ugly. If you could only see him as I saw him!—And then he is so clever, so intelligent; he is a most remarkable, a most extraordinary dog: in fact, I do not believe there is another in the whole world like him!”

“0, don’t be alarmed, my dear; you may rest assured I shall not go to hunt after his equal; the sight of him alone is quite enough for me.”

And Madame de Cherville, in spite of herself, could not help laughing at the miserable figure the animal cut; and, in truth, as we have observed, the dog had very little pretension to beauty.

Leon was on thorns; he could not, without great annoyance, hear Madame de Cherville laugh at his dog,—that wonderful dog, whose merit he himself knew so well. He could not bear to see a creature so worthy of admiration thus despised. His selflove suffered for his poor dog, of which he had now become so fond; with which he had risen so high above the earth; with which he had soared among the clouds far above the world and the dwellings of men :—have him thus insulted! 0, it was impossible!

“Come, my good Faraud,” said Leon, addressing the flying dog, “come into my room: there at least nobody shall laugh at you.”

“In your own room !” cried Madame de Cherville; “no, indeed, my love; you must take him into the stable.”

“The stable !” repeated Leon in an angry tone; “put into the stable a dog which—” At these words he stopped short, for he felt his secret was about to escape him; but his indignation and grief were too much for him, so he burst into tears.

Madame deCherville felt pity for her son’s despair.

“Come, come, my dear,” she said, “don’t cry; take your dog into your own room if you like, and then come and have your dinner; I have been waiting for you some time.”

Leon, consoled by these words, led Faraud into his room, put down a cushion out of one of the armchairs for him to lie on, and in an easier frame of mind went into the dining-room to his mamma.

CHAPTER X.

WHAT HE LIKES.

Leon ate his dinner with good appetite, for his aerial trip had made him somewhat hungry; but the whole of dinner-time he was tormented but with one idea.

“I forgot to ask the princess what I ought to feed my dog on. Must I treat him as a bird or a dog? give him birdseed or a bone to pick? If I had him here, I should soon see whether he would eat bread; I would try.”

Whilst in the midst of these reflections, a great uproar was heard in the house; every servant seemed to be up in arms.

“Rascal! thief!” they cried out, “will you be

off? nasty creature!” and all sorts of hard words besides.

Madame de Cherville rang the bell to learn the cause of all this confusion.

“Madame,” said the footman, “cook is in a dreadful rage; Mr. Leon’s dog has just stolen two cutlets.”

“0, I’m so glad!” cried Leon; “I know now what he likes; and I—”

“Why, I could have told you that, you silly boy,” cried Madame de Cherville, laughing; “and if you had asked me, we might have saved the cutlets into the bargain.”

Leon, observing that they were running after his dog about the courtyard, hastened to the rescue; and having caught him, shut him up in his room, and locked the door, so as to prevent his getting out a second time.

Thus enlightened about what the flying dog would eat, Leon from that time no longer thought of treating him like a canary. He took, great care of him, and liked him better every day.

He waited with impatience for the coming of autumn; he was desirous of seeing the days draw in, so as not to be seen when taking his flight into the clouds. The fairy had particularly recommended him not to fly during the daytime, unless at her own palace; and even there only from the lawn round the pavilion. In that vast and solitary garden, and where besides he was protected by the fairy’s power, he was sheltered from all eyes; but any other spot would have been dangerous.

N

Leon, therefore, went almost daily to the princess’s, followed by the flying dog;, which was the subject of the most disagreeable remarks from people on the road.

“What an ugly wretch!” some would say; “did you ever see an uglier creature in your life?”

“Well, there’s no accounting for tastes!” another would observe; “when there’s such a quantity of pretty dogs, to have a thing like that!”

“Why, my child’s mongrel is prettier than he is I”‘

“It’s a kind of poodle,” said a countryman with contempt.

“You’re a poodle!” answered his wife; “Tom’s is a poodle; but it’s a very different thing- to that ugly beast.”

Leon consoled himself for these humiliating remarks on his arrival at the fairy’s: scarce had he mounted his dog, and risen with him into the air, when he forgot all these petty insults; he was too high to hear them any longer.

By degrees he accustomed himself to see his treasure unknown and overlooked; and his dog, whose merit he alone was acquainted with, only became dearer to him from that circumstance.

CHAPTER XI.

A FRIEND.

But Leon’s friend Henry, the young gentleman who boasted a stick-up collar and boots, was ex

The Cornhill Magazine, Volume 10; Volume 12
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“Croaker,” I said abruptly, “I want to know your opinion about the increase of women.”

“About the increase of women! why who on earth ought to know all about that better than you yourself?”

“Nonsense,” I said testily; “I mean the increase in numbers, of women—the gradually increasing disproportion between the sexes.”

“Oh,” he said, ” I see. Of course you know that at the last census there were in the three kingdoms—” here I saw as it were Croaker’s hand raised to turn on the steam of his inexorable statistical hammer, so I interposed hastily, “Never mind the exact numbers—the question is, What’s to be done—is there any remedy?”

“Why, what remedy can you have in this country?” he replied with great asperity. “If we were Spartans we could expose on some Mount Taygetus the surplusage of our female infants; if we were Hindoos we could get rid of all widows by suttee; but as we are Christians we must not interfere with the course of nature, however strange and vexatious it may be. Stay,” he continued thoughtfully, “we might perhaps apply a temporary remedy.”

“What?” I asked eagerly.

“I have often spoken to you, Byng, about the extraordinary number of infanticides that take place yearly in England and Scotland. There are, you know”

“Yes, yes, I remember.”

“Well, if a numerously signed petition could be got up (nothing is easier you know), praying Parliament for a bill to provide that every woman found guilty of the murder of a male child shall be certainly hanged, let the extenuating circumstances be what they will; but that every woman found guilty of the murder of her female child, shall be allowed to beg a reprieve from Sir George Grey”

“Now you know as well as I do, Croaker, that we could never get this done, and even if we could Sir George Grey cannot be always Home Secretary.”

“Still it would be a great check,” said Croaker reflectively; “even a few months would help to redress the balance considerably.”

“But let us look the evil in the face, and let us suppose that the disproportion goes on still in the same ratio”

“Goes on still in the Same ratio!” echoed Croaker; “why, man, are you forgetting that we are on the eve of a general European war? Now the fact is, Byng, I have given a great deal of thought to this subject, but I refrained from intruding it upon your notice, because—because,” he said hesitatingly, “you had met with some—with a few misfortunes of that kind yourself.”—(Here I was overcome at this proof of Croaker’s sympathy and affection, but could only acknowledge it by a warm grasp of the hand.)—” But,” he hurried on to say, “I have long thought over it, and by a series of intricate calculations I have arrived at the following result,—that in the event of our being dragged into a general European war of half the magnitude of the struggle with Napoleon, the disproportion will eventually grow to two and one-eighth to one.”

“Two and one-eighth to one! God bless my soul, Croaker, you don’t mean to say that we shall ever live to see more than two women to one man!”

“We may not live to see it,” said Croaker, encouragingly; “this consummation may be twenty years off.”

“But,” I gasped, “what’s to be done with them?”

“Well,” he said, “I have thought of polygamy as being the most feasible and the most”

“Polygamy!” I cried, with pardonable warmth, “it is unscriptural— it is unnatural—the very thought of it is—is shocking to every sense of delicacy, of comfort! It would be an unmixed curse. It would be a gross, a scandalous injustice. No, no; anything but polygamy!” I cried, with some vehemence, as I mopped the perspiration off my forehead.

“My dear friend,” said Croaker, ” polygamy is not unscriptural, unless for curates; and here, indeed, St. Paul seems to have had a prophetic eye upon our day, in his direction to deacons to have but one wife, as otherwise the rush of the sex upon curates would be overwhelming. But there is no scripture to prevent you taking a few more wives for the sake of your country; however, the law of the land is against you at present.”

“May it never, never be repealed I ” I cried, fervently; “and, Croaker, you cannot be in earnest in saying that St. Paul ever contemplated such a dreadful state of things in a Christian land. The best divines interpret being the husband of one wife as the prohibition of a second marriage after the first wife’s death. Polygamy! why, it is impossible.”

“The Mohammedans don’t find it so.”

“Yes, but they keep them caged up; besides, they are a miserable race of fatalists, who passively submit to anything. I wonder how you can talk seriously about such a thing; but then you are not married.”

“Well, what would you propose?”

“I would adopt a plan that worked very well among the ancient Romans, I would impose a ruinous fine upon celibacy,” I said. “That would be outrageous tyranny.”

“I don’t care. Why, if men do not wish to sacrifice their comfort to their country, if they are so intensely selfish as to prefer luxury and ease to self-sacrificing patriotism, they deserve to be fined. I’d double or treble their income-tax.”

“Really, Byng, I did not expect to hear this intemperate language from you. It is not only unj ust and unfriendly in you to speak thus, but it is absurd. What would you do, for instance, with such a case as Thornberry, the curate of St. John’s? Would you force the wretched man to marry upon 751. a year and a concertina, which are about all his worldly goods? Or would you confiscate the concertina?”

What was I to say? Of all men, lay or clerical, Thornberry was the least matrimonial; in fact, the ideas of Thornberry and matrimony were ludicrously incongruous. One glance at his mild, middle-aged, bald head, would at once extinguish the matrimonial hopes of the most sanguine. It had such a bump of veneration! a bump of fast and vigil—of dogcollar, whiskerlessness, and cassock-waistcoat; but, above all, a bump that would crimson at the thought of marriage. He never could have looked upon young ladies in any other light than as people who, if all went well, might come, one day, to confession to him; and thus, in their own weak way, help forward the great cause of the Church. Thornberry, therefore, meant to me now total and irreparable defeat. “Well, Croaker,” I said, laughing, “let us set aside all idea either of polygamy, or of enforced marriage; but the question still remains, what is to be done 1”

“I don’t know,” said Croaker, who never was defeated, and who could never be brought to a compromise with a good grace. “I don’t know that we should put aside all idea of polygamy. It would not only be better for our country, but I think it would also be better for the ladies than old-maidenhood; my inexperience, of course, deprives my opinion here of weight, but I have Shakspeare with me,—

Earthlier happy is the rose distilled

Than that, which withering on the virgin thorn,

Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness.”

“Well, at any rate,” I replied, “such wholesale distillation will be always illicit; you will never get a House of Commons to pass a bill for polygamy. It is absurd to entertain such an idea for a moment. They might assign a grant of public money to enable all ladies who really wish it to go to Utah, but let the disproportion grow to be as great as it may, you will never see polygamy legalized in this free country. Britons never, never, never can be—ah—polygamists.”

“And yet you would force men to marry, as if the same principle did hot apply here too. But let us waive both these questions and what do you fall back on?”

“I would make women more independent—more capable of selfsupport. I would subject them to a more healthy discipline. I would train them by a wider and more bracing education; strengthen their mind, enlarge their ideas, and, perhaps,” I said, carried away by my enthusiasm, “awake some power of reasoning. If once we could do this, the rest would follow of course.”

“What do you mean by ‘ the rest ?'” said Croaker.

“I mean that women, then, would be able to take that place from which the prudery of society now excludes them; which is their right as reasonable, as—as human beings; that place from which we don’t exclude negroes. It is all very well for you to say that their natural modesty and timidity disqualifies them from”

“Oh! but I don’t say anything of the sort,” said Croaker. “No, no; I am as sanguine as you can be here. From all that I know of the ladies of the present day, weak, puling, maudlin, mawkish modesty, which in my day was thought estimable, is by no means their besetting sin. Not at all. They are divesting themselves daily more and more of it. Dear me! dear me !” sighed he, “when I think of what girls were in my day, and see what they are now, how thankful should I feel for the happy change! You couldn’t believe, Byng, what I could tell you about them then—poor, weak, mean-spirited, little-souled creatures! They did not know half what was going on in the world; never read a newspaper divorce-case; never read those healthy, bracing, intrigue-spiced novels of our day. Why, the very name of a lover made them blush like a peony, and fluttered their contemptible little hearts.”

“Well, then,” said I, ” if they have conquered the prudish prejudices of society, and got rid of the dross of that pseudo-delicacy and mockmodesty, the pure metal remains to be worked up.”

“Yes,” said Croaker, “the pure virgin gold remains to be worked up; but to pursue the metaphor, it works up best with alloy—with the alloy of matrimony. You judge too favourably, since you judge from married women exclusively. But what of old maids? I hate speaking of things in your vague declamatory way; let us come down to hard, dry, solid fact, where we can be sure of what we are standing on. Now, even you must have observed (though you have little of the philosophic spirit), that, speaking generally, old maids may be grouped into two great classes: those who take to poodles, and those who take to tracts. Those whose yearning for something to love and pet has severed all hope of husband and children, and those who, from their forced celibacy, become a kind of Protestant nun, differing from the Roman Catholic species, much as bluebottles differ from drones. Drones live an idle, gregarious, and monotonous life, in a comparatively speaking inoffensive way; but the bluebottle is always rushing about by itself; fizzes fussily into some poor man’s cottage, buzzes incessantly and distractingly; knocks its blunt head two or three times against what it doesn’t understand, and at last is off, to the unutterable relief of the nerves. Now, here are two roughly-drawn specimens, that you must own fairly represent in the lump the two classes of which this gradually increasing body of old maids is composed. They may not all have poodles, in one class, nor may all the other class distribute tracts, but the bent of mind either to make pets or to make converts is there. Now, Byng, be reasonable, give up your rodomontade, and tell me candidly do you think this metal of unmarried womanhood as malleable as you wish to believe it?”

“My dear fellow, you mistake me altogether. I was never so mad as to suppose it was. I never thought for a moment of the present generation; but I should certainly like to make the rising generation of old maids more capable of self-support. I had no notion of striving to bend the straight, stiff poplar-tree, but the lissome twig, at least, is pliable.”

“And how are you to recognize ‘the rising generation of old maids?’ You speak as if you could discern them by certain marks; as if these lissome twigs grew up with the red mark, which points out the tree for the axe. You can’t be sure that all the girls that like kittens and good stories will turn out old maids.”

“Nonsense! Croaker, I wish you would not wilfully misunderstand me. Of course, all would be educated in the same way. It would not make women a whit less eligible as wives, because they knew something besides the piano. I’d have them all taught Latin, and Greek, and Hebrew, and mathematics, and logics, and physics, and ethics, and”

“Cricket, physiology, football, logarithms, boxing, and divinity,” broke in Croaker, rudely; “you would have, in fact, Tennyson’s college an accomplished fact, flaunting

With prudes for proctors, dowagers for deans,
And sweet girl-graduates in their golden hair.

Do you really mean to say you would throw open the professions to women?”

“You are prejudiced, Croaker. You don’t know what women are capable of—the depth of their character, the breadth of their mind, the strength of their intellect. You don’t know”

“No, but do you really mean to say that you would throw open the professions to them?” repeated Croaker, who was looking at me with an expression of blank amazement and incredulity. “That you would have a female college, in which all those with pretty hands would become doctors, and those whom black became would become parsons, and those who loved gossip would become lawyers?”

“I don’t see”

“My dear friend, just think for a moment before you commit yourself by such an absurd scheme. First tell me, would any man employ a plain woman doctor—would any woman employ a pretty one? Next tell me what is to become of three-fourths of every congregation (generally the proportion of women to men), if the preacher ceased to be a man? And lastly, tell me, is your idea of a lawyer only one-sided: as a man endowed with unlimited power of abuse, and not also as a man endowed with some power of reasoning?”

“You are forgetting that there are such things as female doctors. There is one of those ‘ hard, dry, solid facts ‘ you are so fond of,” said I, somewhat nettled. “There are at least two female doctors to confute your uncharitable aspersions upon the sex.”

“Now, Byng, do not be so hurried away with your hobby, as to use unwarrantable language. No one knows better than you, how greatly I love and reverence the sex. And as to your having confuted what you are pleased to call ‘my uncharitable aspersions,’ I didn’t say there were not two female doctors.”

“There are numbers in America, besides,” I said.

“Well, well, I don’t dispute that, either. But, Byng, have you an idea what a medical student is?”

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Peck’s Fun: Comprising All the Choice Gems of Wit, Humor, Sarcasm and Pathos
By George Wilbur Peck
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AN AESTHETIC FEMALE CLUB BUSTED.

THE organization of the “Cosmos” Club, of Chicago women, for the purpose of discussing “aesthetic” business, ancient poetry and pottery ware, calls to mind the attempt to organize such a club here in Milwaukee. Our people here are too utterly full of business and domestic affairs to take to the “aesthetic” very generally, and the lady from Boston who tried to get up a class in the new wrinkle went away considerably disgusted. She called about fifty of our splendidest ladies together at the residence of one of them, and told them what the ladies of Eastern cities were doing in the study of higher arts. She elaborated considerably on the study of Norwegian literature, ceramics, bric-a-brac and so forth, and asked for an expression of the ladies present. One lady said she was willing to go into anything that would tend to elevate the tone of society, and make women better qualified for helpmates to their husbands, but she didn’t want any Norwegian literature in hers. She said her husband ran for an office once and the whole gang of Norwegian voters went back on him and he was everlastingly scooped.

The Boston lady held up her hands in holy horror, and was going to explain to the speaker how she was off her base, when another lady got up and said she wanted to take the full course or nothing. She wanted to be posted in ancient literature and ceramics. She had studied ceramics some already, and had got a good deal of information. She had found that in case of whooping cough, goose oil rubbed on the throat and lungs were just as good as it was in case of croup, and she felt that with a good teacher any lady would learn much that would be of incalculable value, and she, for one, was going for the whole hog or none.

The Boston lady saved herself from fainting by fanning herself vigorously, and was about to show the two ladies that they had a wrong idea of aesthetics, when a lady from the West Side, who had just been married, got up and said she felt that we were all too ignorant of aesthetics, and they should take every opportunity to become better informed. She said when she first went to keeping house she couldn’t tell baking powder that had alum in it from the pure article, and she had nearly ruined her husband’s stomach before she learned anything. And Speaking of bric-a-brac, she felt that every lady should economize, by occasionally serving a picked up dinner, of bric-a-brac that would otherwise be wasted. The Boston lady found she could not speak understandingly, so she left her chair and went around to the different groups of ladies, who were talking earnestly, to get them interested. The first group of four that she broke in on were talking of the best way to renovate seal skin cloaks that had been moth eaten. One lady said that she had tried all the aesthetic insect powder that was advertised in the papers, and the moths would fairly get fat on it, and beg for more; but last spring she found out that moths were afraid of whisky. Her husband worked in a wholesale whisky store, and his garments became saturated with the perfume, and you couldn’t hire a moth to go near him. So she got an empty whisky barrel and put in all her furs, and the moths never

BOSTON FANS HERSELF.

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touched a thing. But she said the moths had a high old time all summer. They would go together in squads and go to the barrel and smell at the bung-hole, and lock arms and sashay around the room, staggering just as though there was an election, and about eleven o’clock they would walk up to a red spot in the carpet and take a lunch, just like men going to a saloon. She said there was one drawback to the whisky barrel, as it gave her away when she first went out in company after taking her clothes out of the barrel. She wore her seal-skin cloak to the Good Templars’ Lodge, the first night after taking it out, and they were going to turn her out of the Lodge on the ground that she had violated her obligation. “You may talk about your Scandinavian literature,” said she, turning to the Boston lady, “but when it comes to keeping moths out of furs, an empty whisky barrel knocks the everlasting socks off of anything I ever tried.” The Boston lady put on her aesthetic hat, and was about to take her leave, satisfied that she had struck the wrong crowd, when a sweet little woman, with pouting lips, called her aside. The Boston lady thought she had found at last one congenial soul, and she said: “What is it, my dear?” The little woman hesitated a moment, and with a tear in her eye she asked: “Madam, can you tell me what is good for worms? Fido has acted for a week as though he was ill, and—” That settled it. The Boston lady went away, and has never been heard of since.

WHISKY DOING GOOD.

A.ST. LOUIS man named Coburn drank a pint of whisky, on a wager, and died in an hour. And yet there are people who say whisky never did any good.

PECK’S BAD BOY AND HIS PA.

HE AND HIS PA IN CHICAGO.

“ WHAT is this I hear about your Pa’s being arrested in Chicago,” said the grocery man to the bad boy, as he came in with a can for kerosene and a jug for vinegar.

“ Well, it was true, but the police let him go after they hit him a few licks and took him to the station,” said the boy, as he got the vinegar into the kerosene can, and the kerosene in the jug. “ You see, Pa and me went down there to stay over night, and have fun. Ma said she druther we would be away than not when they were cleaning house, and Pa thought it would do me good to travel, and sort of get tone, and he thought maybe I’d be better, and not play jokes, but I guess it is born in me. Do you know I actually think of mean things to do when 1 am in the most solemn places. They took me to a funeral once, and I got to thinking what a stampede there would be if the corpse would come to life and sit up in the coffin, and I snickered right out, and Pa took me out doors and kicked my pants. I don’t think he orter kick me for it, cause I didn’t think of it a purpose. Such things have occurred, and I have read about them, and a poor boy ought to be allowed to think, hadn’t he?”

“ Yes, but what about his being arrested. Never mind the funeral,” said the grocery man, as he took his knife and picked some of the lead out of the weights on the scales.

“ We went down on the ears, and Pa had a headache, because he had been out all night electioneering for the prohibition ticket, and he was cross, and scolded me, and once he pulled my ear cause I asked him if he knew the girl he was winking at in a seat across the aisle. I didn’t enjoy myself much, and some men were talking about kidnapping children, and it gave me an ijee, and just be

fore I got to Chicago I went after a drink of water at the other end of the car, and I saw a man who looked as though he wouldn’t stand any fooling, and I whispered to him and told him that the bald-headed man I was sitting with was taking me away from my home in Milwaukee, and I mistrusted he was going to make a thief or a pick-pocket of me. I said ‘s-h-h-h,” and told him not to say anything or the man would maul me. Then I went back to the seat and asked Pa to buy me a gold watch, and he looked mad and cuffed me on the ear. The man that I whispered to got talking with some other men, and when we got off the cars at Chicago a policeman came up to Pa and took him by the neck and said, ‘Mr. Kidnapper, I guess we will run you in.” Pa was mad and tried to jerkaway, and the cop choked him, and another cop came along and helped, and the passengers crowded around and wanted to lynch Pa, and Pa wanted to know what they meant, and they asked him where he stole the kid, and he said I was his kid, and asked me if I wasn’t, and I looked scared, as though I was afraid to say no, and I said: “Y-e-s S-i-r, I guess so.” Then the police said the poor boy was scart, and they would take us both to the station, and they made Pa walk spry, and when he held back they jerked him along. He was offul mad and said he would make somebody smart for this, and I hoped it wouldn’t be me. At the station they charged Pa with kidnapping a boy from Milwaukee, and he said it was a lie, and I was his boy, and I said of course I was, and the boss asked who told the cops Pa was a kidnapper, and they said ‘damfino,” and then the boss told Pa he could go, but not to let it occur again, and Pa and me went away. I looked so sorry for Pathat he never tumbled to me, that I was to blame. We walked around town all day, and went to the stores, and at night Pa was offul tired, and he put me to bed in the tavern and he went out to walk around and get rested.

Peck’s Fun: Comprising All the Choice Gems of Wit, Humor, Sarcasm and Pathos
By George Wilbur Peck
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I was not tired, and I walked all around the hotel. I thought Pa had gone to a theatre, and that made me mad, and I thought I would play a joke on him. Our room was 210 and the next was 212, and there was a old maid with a scotch terrier occupied 212. I saw her twice and she called me names, cause she thought I wanted to steal her dog. That made me mad at her, and so I took my jack-knife and drew the tacks out of the tin thing that the numbers were painted on, and put the old maid’s number on our door and our number on her door, and then I went to bed. I tried to keep awake, so as to help Pa if he had any difficulty, but I guess I got asleep, but woke up when the dog barked. If the dog had not woke me up, the woman’s scream would, and if that hadn’t, Pa would. You see, Pa came home from the theatre about ‘leven, and he had been drinking. He says everybody drinks when they go to Chicago, even the minister. Pa looked at the numbers on the doors all along the hall till he found 210, and walked right in and pulled off his coat and threw it on the lounge where the dog was. The old maid was asleep, but the dog barked, and Pa said, ‘That cussed boy has bought a dog, and he kicked the dog, and then the old maid said, ‘what is the matter, pet?’ “Pa laffed and said, ‘Nothin the mazzer with me, pet,” and then you ought to have heard the yelling. The old maid covered her head and kicked and yelled, and the dog snarled and bit Pa on the pants, and Pa had his vest off and his suspenders unbuttoned, and he got scared and took his coat and vest and went out in the hall, and I opened the door and told Pa he was in the wrong room, and he said he guessed he knowed it, and he came in our room and I locked the door, and then the bell boy, and the porter, and the clerk came up to see what ailed the old maid, and she said a burglar got in the room, and they found Pa’s hat on the lounge, and they took it and told her to be quiet and they would find the burglar. Pa was so scared that he sweat like everything, and the bed was offul warm, and he pretended to go to sleep, but he was wondering how he could get his hat back. In the morning I told him it would be hard work to explain it to Ma how he happened to get into the wrong room, and he said it wasn’t necessary to say anything about it to Ma.

“Then he gave me five dollars to go out and buy him a new hat, and he said I might keep the change if I would not mention it when I got home, and I got him one for ten shillings, and we took the eight o’clock train in the morning and came home, and I spose the Chicago detectives are trying to fit Pa’s hat onto a burglar. Pa seemed offully relieved when we got across the state line into Wisconsin. But you’d a dide to see him come out of that oid lady’s room with his coat and vest on his arm, and his suspenders hanging down, looking scart. He dassent lick me any more or I’ll tell Ma where Pa left his hat.

THE TEACHER WAS TO HARSH.

MILDNESS and perseverence is an invaluable trait in a successful Sunday-school teacher. They should have control over their tempers, and speak gently to the erring scholars. A teacher in a Des Moines, Iowa, Sundayschool said to a boy last Sunday, “You d-d little scoundrel, I will kick you out of church in two minutes if you do that again.” That poor persecuted boy had only been playing seven-up for a cup of peanuts, with another boy in the pulpit. The teacher was to harsh, and no doubt, pained the boy unnecessarily.

GETTING IT DOWN FINE.

BOARDERs at thirteen boarding houses in the city met on Thursday evening, not as an indignation meeting, but to talk over the different methods that might be suggested for inducing landladies to put more bed clothes on the beds. Resolutions were adopted expressive of the sense of the meeting, which the secretary was instructed to have transcribed and forwarded by mail to the proprietors of the boarding houses represented at the meeting. After the business that brought them together had been transacted, the boarders exchanged views on the subject of boarding houses, and discussed the different methods of bringing landladies to terms.

Mr. Smith said that he had suffered from stewed prunes at the table where he boarded for thirteen years. He had not touched a prune for eleven years, but a sauce plate full, soaked in tepid water, had been set beside his plate every night since he had been there. While he did not wish to complain, he thought the thing had been carried far enough, and he would be thankful if any gentlemen present would suggest a method by which a boarding house keeper could be induced to give prunes a furlough.

Mr. Brown rose to his feet, and said, unaccustomed as he was to public speaking, he felt that he could not let the occasion pass without relating his experience. He said he had been troubled with prunes- that way for six years, ten months and thirteen days. He got so that the sight of a prune set him into hysterics, and when he saw a barrel of them in a store it made him sea sick. Last summer, he said, he made up his mind to release prunes from their engagement at that house, if he broke up the business. He said he sat on the left side of the landlady at the table, and when she was not looking he put a dead mouse into her sauce dish. She took the mouse up on a tea spoon, and was just about to place it in {among her

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false teeth, when he called her attention to the deceased. She shrieked, and took all the prunes ofi the table. He said there were no prunes for supper for some days, but at length they came again, and he put a mouse into a dish belonging to an old maid on the other side of the table. She was near sighted, and thought the prunes were these preserved crab apples with the stems on, and she took up the mouse by the tail on that understanding, and bit it,

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hanging to the tail with the thumb and forefinger. Brown said he felt as mean as an Indian Commissioner when he saw her trying to masticate that crab apple, and when she gave it up, and adjusted her glasses and looked at it, and saw what she had done, and left the table, and the other borders and the landlady looked at the mouse; he felt as though the days of prunes were numbered. That was last summer and he has not seen a prune since.

and he said he could conscientiously recommend the mouse plan.

As he sat down Mr. Smith asked what a good mouse trap would cost, or if any gentleman had a second hand mouse trap to sell. He said he would try it on his boarding house at once. Mr. Robinson said he had a mouse trap, a spell ago, but it had got lost, and as he had found a piece of wire in his hash he had concluded that the trap had got into the hash cutter by mistake. Mr. Jones said that was not necessarily the case, as he had found wire in his hash, also, and on tracing it up he found that a hair pin had been cut off in the flower of its youth.

Mr Harvey, in moving to adjourn, suggested that the boarders form a society, and meet once a week for the purpose of exchanging experiences, and devising ways and means to better their condition. The proposition was acted upon favorably, and the society is to be known as the Boarder’s Exchange and Anti-Hash Society. A committee was appointed to secure rooms in the Insurance building, and it was agreed to meet every Tuesday evening, and to invite THE SUN to send a reporter.

Zozimus
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ON OLD MAIDS.

An old maid is an elderly woman who wears a red ribbon in her bonnet, and lives by herself on a third floor in a lodging house. She has high cheek bones and a cracked voice. She wears mittens all the year round, and rears geraniums in flower-pots on the outside window sill. These flower-pots often fall into the street and kill children. When this occurs the old maid goes down stairs, picks up the plant, and, having got back to her room, puts it into a new pot of fresh earth. Geraniums often survive the fall. An old maid has false teeth, artificial hair, and a shabby reticule. She drinks camomile tea before breakfast for the stomach, and washes her face in cream to prevent the skin from chapping.

Her income is limited, and she knows the value of a penny. She likes to get an old acquaintance for an hour’s talk, and she has a plentiful store of personal anecdotes. She loves all mankind so well, that she is continually chastising everyone with her tongue. She would rather die than change her opinion, for she is a woman of thought. She does not often sing. It is a superstition to suppose that she can turn milk sour by looking at it. She cannot do much with looks, but she can do a great deal with words. I once knew an old maid who kept seventeen families continually fighting. When she died, all the other old maids had her body embalmed and presented to the museum attached to the institution for the prevention of cruelty to animals. This was satire.

It is very easy for young women to become old maids. If they are ugly and cross they have no difficulty at all. If they are pretty and sweet-tempered they can become old maids by saying “no” three times, and wearing spectacles. Young women with plenty of money, whether they are handsome or ugly, never become old maids.

Old maids are the leaven of society, for they continually foment it. They walk about the world with their reticules, and into their reticules they put everything evil they meet. In this way they are very useful, for they can produce from these reticules as many pretty stories of their neighbours as would keep a small town quiet in time of war. They rarely move from place to place, for if they did so their store of anecdotes would lose the interest of local colour.

They have white dogs with pink ribbons for collars. These dogs bite men’s calves. They howl in the night and keep the other lodgers awake. They snap at other dogs, and should the other dogs retaliate, their owners are threatened with a prosecution. I once saw three boys stoning an old maid’s dog: when they had done, an elderly gentleman, in a linen trousers, gave them sixpence each. This was a great many years ago. There are not many men now alive equal to that elderly gentleman—he was a philanthropist. Most philanthropists are a nuisance, but this man would redeem a score.

When old maids travel by rail, they scream every five minutes with fright. They always imagine that the boiler of the engine is after bursting, or that the dark-whiskered man reading the newspaper in the distant part of the carriage is going to be rude. They sit in a corner and place a leather trunk between themselves and their neighbours, lest they should be robbed. They believe in garotters. I once travelled alone in a railway carriage with an old maid. She sat at one end—I at the other. She applied a bottle of smelling salts to her nose every two minutes, and never ceased to look at me from under her eyes. When I put my hand to my waistcoat pocket for my watch, she asked me not to murder her until we got’near some station. I reassrred her. When I opened the window for air, she shrieked again, and implored me not to throw her out until we came to a part of the line where there was no embankment. When I opened my carpet bag to get a railway guide, she took her watch, her purse, and a silver thimble out of her pockets, and asked me had I no mercy, and would I not take these and allow her to live? She then went down on her knees and caught my hand. I was so terrified that I opened the door and leaped out. Fortunately the train had just stopped, and I only broke my leg. Ever since that time, whenever I go into a railway carriage, I carry a large pipe in my hand. If there

are any old maids there, they call “porter !’ and get out their luggage.

Old maids are afraid of cows. They don’t eat babies.

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New Outlook, Volume 51
edited by Alfred Emanuel Smith, Francis Walton
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The Spectator

The Bench Shows for dogs have, in a certain sense, made a change in the calendar. We were in the habit of saying that the dog-days had come when the sultry parts of July and August had arrived and Sirius was the morning star. But nowadays the dog-days have been towards the end of February, when the shows are held and the dogs are the stars of the world of amusements. These exhibitions, by the way. are doing much good beyond the mere amusement of townspeople in seeing extraordinarily fine specimens of man’s closest friend, for they teach the value of correct and pure breeding, and they instruct men and women, and children too, in dog management. Most dogs are managed too much. The Spectator recently had to take care for a few weeks of a beautiful little fox-terrier, the property of a young old maid. The mistress was a nice fidgety little body, and she dearly loved her little ” doggie,” as she called this fox-terrier in caressing tones. Now, a fox-terrier is not a “doggie,” and no one who wants a mere lapdog to pet and caress should ever select this strong, courageous, and gentlemanlike little beast. A fox-terrier is all dog, every inch dog, besides having a rare intelligence. In managing a fox-terrier these facts should be taken into consideration, else the dog is very apt to be spoiled. Now, the Spectator’s little young old maid gave to her fox-terrier more attention and watchfulness than the average human baby receives. The consequence was that the little fellow was spoiled out of all of his instinctive virtues, and never developed any of those discretionary powers which, when exercised by dogs, command such well-merited admiration. But this little fellow was timid, mischievous, and a nuisance by day and by night. The Spectator gave him three thrashings for howling in the stable at night—he had slept on the foot of the young old maid’s bed—and he howled no more. Then two or three more whippings for doing what he was commanded not to do, and that dog was a changed animal—happy as the day was long, and never in a scrape. Uncle Remus, in one of his discourses on the effects of schools on negro children, declared that with “a barrelstave he could fairly lift the veil of ignorance.” And so it is with the whip and the dog. The latter must know that he will get the whip if he deserves it, and then he will very rarely deserve it after he has come to years of discretion. And when that time has come, the dog should by all means be permitted to exercise and develop that discretion, though he should never have so much freedom as to run wild and become demoralized.

When the Spectator’s young old maid recovered her fox-terrier, she was delighted at the improvement in his manners; but when she saw him jump into the lake and swim away as though he were making for Canada, she was frightened immensely. Later, when her ” doggie ” found a ground hog and would not part from that hard-fighting animal till it had been killed, the little lady was shocked, and more than half concluded that her pet had grown to be unworthy of her affections. But the foxterrier is one of the most noted vermin-destroyers of all the canine race, and this one’s natural instincts, arrested in their development for a while, prompted him to kill Ihe groundhog as soon as they again had full sway. A few months before, this fox-terrier would have fled from a mouse, and the Spectator once saw him put his tail between his legs and run in fright from an attacking guinea-hen. This development of instinct dots not tend to make a dog savage or cruel when the management is wise, but unwise management may accomplish this without in the least meaning it. For instance, to keep a dog continually chained is very apt to spoil the dog’s temper, as well as his health. We often hear Lord Byron— generally considered as a lover of dogs, though he was cynical in regard to them as well as to men—quoted as authority for the belief that dogs have a very short memory. In “Childe Harold ” he says:

Perchance my dog will whine in vain
Till fed by stranger hands,

But long ere I come back again He’d tear me where he stands. It is related of Byron that on one occasion he approached a large dog, chained at Newstead, and the dog, though his property and formerly a favorite, attacked him savagely and tore off the skirts of the nobleman’s coat. Hence his theory. Now, the Spectator maintains that the chain and the enforced restraint were probably the cause of the dog’s savage temper, and not forgetfulness.

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Indeed, the Spectator has good reason to believe in the good memory of the canine race. Once the Spectator had a collie, and for a year lived on terms of most intimate friendship with this animal. Having to leave the country for a long period, the collie was bestowed on a friend. The Spectator did not return to America for five years. Meantime his friend ” Laddie ” had become an old dog, crippled with rheumatism and soured by age. But when the Spectator met “Laddie” the dog’s infirmities seemed to drop from him at once, and he capered about with the nimbleness of a puppy. Five years had not in the least sufficed to end an affection which had had its active growth in one year. Moreover, ” Laddie” remembered the Spectator’s daughter, who was only five years old when she went away and was now ten. Indeed, “Laddie” remembered the little girl very much better than she did him. When he saw her on her return, he licked her face and hands, and whined and frisked about as though he could not contain himself for joy. When “Laddie ” had been a meml^er of the Spectator’s family, he constituted himself the special guardian of this little girl, without any instructions or promptings whatever. During the day he kept away from her, for she pulled his ears and tail, and sat down on him when he was inclined to sleep. But so soon as the shades of night began gathering, he placed himself near her, and when the nurse came to take her to bed, “Laddie” went with them and slept by the child’s bed till morning. The Spectator, noting this, inquired of the breeder if ” Laddie ” had been taught to do this service with some other child. But it was not so; he had never before lived in a house in which there were children. This was but an instance of the natural instinct to guard and protect the helpless.

The dog shows are beneficial in another respect, for they afford the people opportunities to become acquainted with the dogs of other lands, and thereby to learn to know the peoples of those lands better. “Love me, love my dog” is a saying of much antiquity, but it is not more true than “know my dog, know me ” is. The brown poodle throws more than a side-light on French character; in the English mastiff we see much of the sturdiness of English character; in the Scotch collie we see Scotch thriftiness, Scotch courage, Scotch prudence, and Scotch loyalty. And in the most recent dog of fashion, the Russian wolfhound, we are likely to detect some of the national characteristics which we should not otherwise have known. This dog hunts in packs, and singly cannot cope with the game he chases. But in packs these hounds can destroy either a wolf or a bear. The individual Russian may not be the equal of the individual Englishman, German, or Frenchman, but what about a numberless army of them?

Duke Alexander, one of the most famous dogbreeders in Russia. Previous to this the wolfdog had not been popular in England, but he is likely not to be neglected in the future. To this country he was brought directly from Russia, many fine specimens coming from the kennels of Prince Boris Galitzin. For chasing jack-rabbits on the plains this dog is the best that could be imagined, and the cavalrymen at Fort Custer have supplied themselves with a small pack. In action the wolf-hound is very like those famous dogs an impressionist painter had on his canvas chasing a green moon, but they are different in color; the painter’s dogs were sky-blue, the wolf-dog is white with brindle or chestnut spots. The coat of the wolf-hound is long and wavy; good specimens often have such a ruff of hair about the neck that the head seems to be coming out of a lady’s muff. The head is long and narrow; the legs straight and round; the shoulders strong and muscular; the back clean and arched in the male, though fiat in the female; and the tail is long and scimiter-like. heavily fringed with soft silky hair. The face of this handsome dog denotes courage, mildness, and high character. Fashion has often set its approval less worthily than here.

Confessions of an Old Maid, Volume 2
By Edmund Frederick John Carrington
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Terms of Service

143 – 147

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zling itself to know what could be the reason of the squire’s man being in such an unreasonable hurry. This subject of speculation was dispersed as soon as some new theme for curiosity presented itself: and a glimpse of a blue apron and straw bonnet, just as I turned the corner of the lane which brought me into the village, for the present entirely banished from my thoughts the errand of Mr. Sparks’s man. “Tom, were you able to tell who that person was that passed to the right, a little distance on P” “It was Mrs. Sawnley’s maid, Mum.” “Ay, Mrs. Sawnley’s, the clergyman’s wife.” “Yes, Mum, the clergymunt’s misses.” “Wife, or lady, you should say, Tom, not mistress, as if you were speaking of my tenant’s wife, Mrs. Jolt. Dear me ! there was something I wanted to ask that maid. . . . . . Oh ! it was about the jelly—Tom, make haste and run after Mrs. Sawnley’s maid, and just ask her to be so good as to let me know whether her mistress does not put gooseberry wine into her jelly, and not Madeira. The last time I tasted it, I was certain it was made with some home-made wine, and I have forgotten to clear up my mind to this day about it. Now mind and remember what I tell you to ask; there, now say after me, “gooseberry wine, and not Madeira.” Tom did so thus, “Gooseberry wine, and not … not”.. “Madeira, Sir ” “Madie—I don’t joostly know that word,” said the loon, and would have scratched his head, had it not been covered, for the first time in his life, with a hat: as it was, his claws were being raised up to his numscull. “Madeira, dunce 1” I exclaimed,—“ well— you will recollect gooseberry at any rate.” “Oh, yis, Mum.” “There, make haste, then ; you will find me when you come back, talking with Mrs. Blinke —there run along, do s” Mrs. Blinke was a decent village matron, who kept a school, at which girls were taught to plait. “I may as well “just step in,’” said I to myself, “and ask one or two little things I have to say to the old woman.” I looked in at

the door of her cottage, and with an encouraging

smile and nod of the head, addressed the matron, as she curtsied to me.

“How do you do, Mrs. Blinke; how goes on your school? I suppose you have some pretty plait – workers now, amongst your number 2 Does little Peggy begin to plait the five straw plait yet 2

“ Under, one ; and over, two ;
Pull it tight, and that will do.”

I continued, stroking Peggy’s flaxen pate. “Make a curtsey to the lady that asks so civil about you, Peggy T” “That’s a good girl,” I said; “you mind and improve in your plaiting, and you shall make me a new straw bonnet against next summer. By the by, Mrs. Blinke, does Mrs. Sparks ever have a bonnet of the children’s working f” “Now and then she does, Ma’am, but”… “Rather near, eh? You may tell me, you know, without being afraid.” “Why, she is not an over good customer.” “Ay, I should not wonder—has a coarse

WOL. II. H

straw bonnet once in three years, eh? Never has one of split or chip straw, I dare say ? um ! how is that ?” “Why, I must say, it is some time sence she had a bonnet of us, and it was not the nicest sort neither, which she had; but we hope that the young ladies will perhaps be better customers.” “No, no, Mrs. Blinke, I dare say not; they ake after the mother, be sure. Pray what might you charge her for her last bonnet P I dare say she grumbled P Come ! you know you may tell me?” Before the old woman had answered this question, which she seemed to feel a little awkwardness in doing, Tom had returned from his mission. “Well, Tom ” I said, “what answer have you brought back about the jelly P” “None at all, Mum, about the jelly.” “Then about what else, pray P” “Why, she said I was a saucy young fellur, for asking her about things that I hadn’t no business with, and said you were as bad as myself.” “The impudent jade I should never have dreamt of receiving such an answer.—Good morning to you, Mrs. Blinke:—now mind, Peggy, my dear, if you improve, you are to make me a bonnet. Come along, Tom I have no notion of such impertinence. I shall go up to the Parsonage this moment, and inquire of Mrs. Sawnley herself.” I had soon arrived before the gate belonging to the pales that fronted the Parsonage-house. Tom opened it, and I walked up to the door. I found it wide open; nobody seemed to be in the way. I looked into the rooms on each side of the passage, but could find nobody; and after peeping and peering about for a few minutes, bethought me of ringing the bell. The ringing brought no creature to the door but a terrier; who came barking into the passage through a back door, and alarmed poor Puggy, who took his stand behind his mistress, perking up his tail and then dropping it again,

London Labour and the London Poor: the Condition and Earnings of …, Volume 2
By Henry Mayhew
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59 – 63

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afterwards be guilty of the fame offence, every such offender shall be guilty of an indictable misdemeanor, and, being convicted thereof, shall be liable to suffer such punishment, by fine or imprisonment, with or without hard labour, or by both, a3 the court in its discretion shall award, provided such imprisonment do not exceed eighteen months.”

Op A Dog-” Finder. “—A “LritKEit’s” Career. Coscersing a dog-finder, I received the following account from one who had received the education of a gentleman, but whom circumstances had driven to an association with the vagrant class, and who has written the dog-finder’s biography from personal knowledge—abiography which shows the variety that often’characterizes the career of the ” lurker,” or street-adventurer.

“If your readers,” writes my informant, “have passed the Rubicon of ‘forty years in the wilderness,’ memory must bring back the time when the feet of their childish pilgrimage have trodden a beautiful grass-plot—now converted into ISelgrave-square; when Pimlico was a ‘village out of town,’ and the ‘five fields’ of Chelsea were fields indeed. To write the biography of a living character is always delicate, as to embrace all its particulars is difficult; but of the truthfulness of my account there is no question.

“Probably about the year of the great frost (1S14), a French Protestant refugee, named La Roche, sought asylum in this country, not from persecution, but from difficulties of a commercial character. He built for himself, in Chelsea, a cottage of wood, nondescript in shape, but pleasant in locality, and with ample accommodations for himself and his son. Wife he had none. This littie bazaar of mud and sticks was surrounded with a bench of rude construction, on which the Sunday visitors to Kanelagh used to sit and sip their curds and whey, while from the entrance— far removed in those days from competition—

1 There stood uprear’d, as ensign of the place,
Of blue and red and white, a checquer’d mace,
On which the pafier lantern hung to tell
How cheap its owner shaved you, and how well.’

Things went on smoothly for a dozen years, when the old Frenchman departed this life.

“His boy carried on the business for a few months, when frequent complaints of ‘Sunday gambling’ on the premises, and loud whispers of suspicion relative to the concealment of stolen goods, induced ‘Chelsea George ‘—the name the youth had acquired—to sell the good-will of the house, fixtures, and all, and at the eastern extremity of London to embark in business as a ‘mush or mushroom-faker.’ Independently of his appropriation of umbrellas, proper to the mushfaker’s calling, Chelsea George was by no means scrupulous concerning other little matters within his reach, and if the proprietors of the ‘swell cribs’ within his ‘ beat’ had no ‘ umbrellas to mend,’ or ‘ old ‘uris to sell,’ he would ease the pegs in the passage of the incumbrance of a greatcoat, and telegraph the same out of sight (by a collengue),

while the servant went in to mnke the desired inquiries. At last he was ‘bowl’d out’ in the very act of ‘nailing a yack’ (stealing a watch). He ‘ expiated,’ as it is called, this offence by three months’ exercise on the ‘cockchafer’ (tread-mill). Unaccustomed as yet to the novelty of the exercise, he fell through the wheel and broke one of his legs. He was, of course, permitted to finish his time in the infirmary of the prison, and on his liberation was presented with five pounds out of ‘the Sheriffs’ Fund.’

“Although, as I have before stated, he had never been out of England since his childhood, he had some little hereditary knowledge of the French language, and by the kind and voluntary recommendation of one of the police-magistrates of the metropolis, he was engaged by an Irish gentleman proceeding to the Continent as a sort of supernumerary servant, to ‘make himself generally useful.’ As the gentleman was unmarried, and mostly stayed at hotels, George was to have permanent wages and ‘ find himself,’ a condition he invariably fulfilled, if anything was left in hig way. Frequent intemperance, neglect of duty, and unaccountable departures of property from the portmanteau of his master, led to his dismissal, and Chelsea George was left, without friends or character, to those resources which have supported him for some thirty years.

“During his ‘umbrella’ enterprise he had lived in lodging-houses of the lowest kind, and of course mingled with the most depraved society, especially with the vast army of trading sturdy mendicants, male and female, young and old, who assume every guise of poverty, misfortune, and disease, which craft and ingenuity can devise or well-tutored hypocrisy can imitate. Thus initiated, Chelsea George could ‘go upon any lurk,’ could be in the last stage of consumption—actually in his dying hour—but now and then convalescent for years and years together. He could take fits and counterfeit blindness, be a respectable brokendown tradesman, or a soldier maimed in the service, and dismissed without a pension.

“Thus qualified, no vicissitudes could he either very new or very perplexing, and he commenced operations without delay, and pursued them long without desertion. The * first move’ in his mendicant career was taking tlicm. on Vie fly; which means meeting the gentry on their walks, and beseeching or at times menacing them till something is given; something in general was given to get rid of the annoyance, and, till the ‘game got stale,’ an hour’s work, morning and evening, produced a harvest of success, and ministered to an occasion of debauchery.

“His less popular, but more upright father, had once been a dog-fancier, and George, after many years vicissitude, at length took a ‘fancy’ to the same profession, but not on any principles recognised by commercial laws. With whnt success he has practised, the ladies and gentlemen nbout the ^Vest-end have known, to their loss and disappointment, for more than fifteen years past.

“Although the police have been and still are on the alert, George has, in every instance, hitherto escaped punishment, while numerous detections connected with escape have enabled the offender to hold these officials at defiance. The ‘modus operandi’ upon which George proceeds is to varnish his hands with a sort of gelatine, composed of the coarsest pieces of liver, fried, pulverised, and mixed up with tincture of myrrh.” [This is the composition of which Inspector Shack ell spoke before the Select Committee, but he did not seem to know of what the lure vai concocted. My correspondent continues]: “Chelsea George caresses every animal who ~eems ‘a likely spec,’ and when his fingers have been rubbed over the dogs’ noses they become easy and perhaps willing captives. A bag carried for the purpose, receives the victim, and away goes George, bag and all, to his printer’s in Seven Dials. Two bills and no less—two and no more, for such is Georges style of work—are issued to describe the animal that has thus been found, and which will be ‘restored to its owner on payment of expenses.’ One of these George puts in his pocket, the other he pastes up at a publichouse whose landlord is ‘ fly’ to its meaning, and poor ‘bow-wow ‘ is sold to a ‘ dealer in dogs/ not very far from Sharp’s alley. In course of time the dog is discovered; the possessor refers to the ‘establishment’ where he bought it; the ‘dealer makes himself stpiare? by giving the address of ‘the chap he bought ‘un of,’ and Chelsea George shows a copy of the advertisement, calls in the publican as a witness, and leaves the place ‘ without the slightest imputation on his character.’ Of this man’s earnings I cannot speak with precision : it is probable that in a ‘good year’ his clear income is 200/. ; in a bad year but 100/., but, as he is very adroit, I am inclined to believe that the ‘good’ years somewhat predominate, and that the average income may therefore exceed 150/. yearly.”

Of The Presekt Street-sellers Op Dogs. It will have been noticed that in the accounts I have given of the former street transactions in dogs, there’is no mention of the sellers. The information I have adduced is a condensation of the evidence given before the Select Committee of the House of Commons, and the inquiry related only to the stealing, finding, and restoring of dog?, the selling being but an incidental part of the evidence. Then, however, as now, the street-sellers were not implicated in the thefts or restitution of dogs, ‘■just except,”‘ one man told me, “as there was a black sheep or two in every flock.” The black sheep, however, of this street-calling more frequently meddled with restoring, than with “finding.”

Another street dog-sel!er, an intelligent man,— who, however did not know so much as my first informant of the state of the trade in the olden time,—expressed a positive opinion, that no dogstealer was now a street-hawker (” hawker** was the word I found these men use). His reasons for this opinion, in addition to his own judgment from personal knowledge, are cogent enough: “It isn’t possible, sir,” he said, “and this is the reason why. We are not a large body of men. We

] stick pretty closely, when we are out, to the same | places. We are as well-known to the police, as any men whom they most know, by sight at any rate, from meeting them every day. Now, if a lady or gentleman has lost a dog, or it’s been stolen or strayed—and the most petted will sometimes stray unaccountably and follow some stranger or other—why where does she, and he, and all the family, and all the servants, first look for the lost animal 1 Why, where, but at the dogs wi> are hawking! No, sir, it can’t be done now, and it isn’t done in my knowledge, and it oughtn’t to be done. I ‘d rather make 5s. on an honest dog than 57. on one that wasn’t, if there was no risk about it either.” Other information convinces me that this statement is correct.

Of these street-sellers or hankers there are now about twenty-five. There may be, however, but twenty, if so many, on any given day in the streets, as there are always some detained at home by other avocations connected with their line of life. The places they chiefly frequent are the Quadrant and Regent-street generally, but the Quadrant far the most. Indeed before the removal of the colonnade, one-half at least of all the dog-sellers of London would resort there on a very wet day, as they had the advantage of shelter, and generally of finding a crowd assembled, either lounging to pass the time, or waiting ” for a fair fit,” and so with leisure to look at dogs. The other places are the West-end squares, the banks of the Serpentine, Charing-cross, the Royal Exchange, and the Bank of England, and the Parks generally. They visit, too, any public place to which there may be a temporal-}* attraction of the classes likely to be purchasers — a mere crowd of people, I was told, was no good to the dog-hawkers, it must be a crowd of people that had money—such as the assemblage of ladies and gentlemen who crowd the windows of Whitehall and Parliament-street, when the Queen opens or prorogues the houses. These spectators fill the street and the Horseguards’ portion of the park as soon as the street mass has dispersed, and they often afford the means of a good day’s work to the dog people.

Two dogs, carefully cleaned and combed, or brushed, are carried in a man’s arms for streetvending. A fine chain is generally attached to a neat collar, so that the dog can be relieved from the cramped feel he will experience if kept off his feet too long. In carrying these little animals fur sale—for it is the smaller dogs which are earned -—the men certainly display them to the best advantage. Their longer silken ears, their prominent dark eyes and black noses, and the delicacy of their fore-paws, are made as prominent as possible, and present what the masses very well call ” quite a pictur.*’ I have alluded to the display of the Sf>anieUt as they constitute considerably more than half of the street trade in dogs, the “King Charleses” and the ” Blenheims” being disposed of in nearly equal quantities. They are sold for lapdogs, pets, carriage companions or companions in a walk, and are often intelligent and affectionate. Their colours are black, black and tan, white and liver-colour, chestnut, black and white, and entirely white, with many shades of these hues, and interblendings of them, one with another, and with

pay

The small Terriers are, however, coming more into fashion, or, as the hawkers call it, into “rogue.” They are usually black, with tanned muzzles and feet, and with a keen look, their hair being short and smooth. Some, however, are preferred with long and somewhat wiry hair, and the colour is often strongly mixed with gray. A fmall Isle of Skye terrier—but few, I was informed know a ” real Skye “—is sometimes carried in the streets, as well as the little rough dogs known as Scotch terriers. When a streetseller has a litter of terrier pups, he invariably selects the handsomest for the streets, for it happens—my informant did not know why, but he and others were positive that so it was—that the handsomest is the worst; “the worst,” it must be understood as regards the possession of choice sporting qualities, more especially of pluck. The terrier’s education, as regards his prowess in a rat-pit, is accordingly neglected; and if a gentleman ask, ” Will he kill nits V the answer is in the negative; but this is no disparagement to the sale, because the dog is sold, perhaps, for a lady’s pet, and is not wanted to kill rats, or to “light any dog of his weight.”

The Pugs, for which, 40 to 50 years ago, and, in a diminished degree, 30 years back, there was, in the phrase of the day, “quite a rage,” provided only the pug was hideous, are now never offered in the streets, or so rarely, that a wellknown dealer assured me he had only sold one in the streets for two years. A Leadenhall tradesman, fond of dogs, but in no way connected with the trade, told me that it came to be looked upon, that a pug was a fit companion for only snappish old maids, and “so the women wouldn’t have them any longer, least of all the old maids.”

French. Poodles are also of rare street-sale. One man had a white poodle two or three years ago, so fat and so round, that a lady, who priced it, was told by a gentleman with her, that if the head and the short legs were removed, and the inside scooped out, the animal would make a capital muff; yet even that poodle was difficult of sale at 50*.

Occasionally also an Italian Greyliound, seeming cold and shivery on the warmest days, is borne in a hawker’s arms, or if following on foot, trembling and looking sad, as if mentally murmuring at the climate.

In such places as the banks of the Serpentine, or in the Regenl’s-park, the hawker does not carry his dogs in his arms, so much as let them trot along with him in a body, and they are sure to attract attention; or he sits down, and they play or sleep about him. One dealer told me that children often took such a fancy for a pretty spaniel, that it was difficult for either mother, governess, or nurse, to drag them away until the man was requested to call in the evening, bringing with him the dog, which was very often bought, or the hawker recompensed for his loss of time. Bat sometimes the dog-dealers, I heard from

several, meet with great shabbiness among rich people, who recklessly give them no small trouble, and sometimes put them to expense without the slightest return, or even an acknowledgment or a word of agfllosy. “There ‘a one advantage in my trade,” said a dealer in live animals, ” we always has to do with principals. There’s never a lady would let her most favouritest maid choose her dog for her. So no parkisits.”

The species which I have enumerated are all that are now sold in the streets, with the exception of an odd “plum-pudding,” or coach-dog (the white dog with dark spots which runs after carriages), or an odd bull-dog, or bull-terrier, or indeed with the exception of “odd dogs” of every kind. The hawkers are, however, connected with the trade in sporting dogs, and often through the medium of their street traffic, as I shall show under the next head of my subject.

There is one peculiarity in the hawking of fancy dogs, which distinguishes it from all other branches of street-commerce. The purchasers are all of the wealthier class. This has had its influence on the manners of the dog-sellers. They will be found, in the majority of cases, quiet and deferential men, hut without servility, and with little of the quality of speech; and I speak only of speech which among English people is known as “gammon,” and among Irish people as “blarney.” This manner is common to many; to the established trainer of race-horses for instance, who is in constant communication with persons in a very superior position in life to his own, and to whom he is exceedingly deferential. But the trainer feels that in all points connected with his not very easy business, as well, perhaps, as in general turf knowingness, bis royal highness (as was the case once), or his grace, or my lord, or Sir John, was inferior to himself; and so with all his deference there mingles a strain of quiet contempt, or rather, perhaps, of conscious superiority, whicii is one ingredient in the formation of the manners I have hastily sketched.

The customers of the street-hawkers of dogs arc ladies and gentlemen, who buy what may have attracted their admiration. The kept mistresses of the wealthier classes are often excellent customers. “Many of ’em, I know,” was said to me, “dotes on a nice spaniel. Yes, and I ‘ve known gentlemen buy dogs for their misses; I couldn’t be mistaken when I might be sent on with them, which was part of the bargain. If it was a two-guinea dog or so, I was told never to give a hint of the price to the servant, or to anybody. / know why. It’s easy for a gentleman that wants to please a lady, and not to lay out anygreat matter of tin, to say that what had really cost him two guineas, cost him twenty.” If one of the working classes, or a small tradesman, buy a dog in the streets, it is generally because he is “of a fancy turn,” and breeds a few dogs, and traffics in them in hopes of profit.

The homes of the dog-hawkers, as far as I had means of ascertaining—and all I saw were of the same character—are comfortable and very cleanly. The small spaniels, terriers, &c,—I do not now allude to sporting dogs—are generally kept in kennels, or in small wooden houses erected for the purpose in a back garden or yard. These abodes am generally in some open court, or little square or ” grove,” where there is a free access of air. An old man who was sitting at his door in the Bummer evening, when I called upon a dog-seller, and had *o wait a short time, told me that so quiet were his next-door neighbour’s (the streethawker’s) dogs, that for some weeks, he did not know his newly-come neighbour was a dog-man; although he was an old nervous man himself, and couldn’t bear any unpleasant noise or smell. The scrupulous observance of cleanliness is necessary in the rearing or keeping of small fancy dogs, for without such observance the dog would have a disagreeable odour about it, enough to repel any lady-buyer. It is a not uncommon declaration among dog-sellers that the animals are “as sweet ns nuts.” Let it be remembered that I have been describing the class of regular dog-sellers, making, by an open and established trade, a tolerable livelihood.

The spaniels, terriers, &c., the stock of these hawkers, are either bred by them—and they all breed a few or a good many dogs—or they are purchased of dog-dealers (not street-sellers), or of people who having a good fancy breed of ” King Charleses,” or “Blenheims,” rear dogs, and sell them by the litter to the hawkers. The hawkers also buy dogs brought to them, “in the way of business,” but they are wary how they buy any animal suspected to be stolen, or they may get into *- trouble.” One man, a carver and gilder, I was informed, some ten years back, made a good deal of money by his “black-patched” spaniels. These dogs had a remarkable black patch over their eyes, and so fond was the dog-fancier, or breeder of them, that when he disposed of them to street-sellers or others, he usually gave a portrait of the animals, of his own rude painting, into the bargain. These paintings he also sold, slightly framed, and I have seen them—but not so much lately—offered in the streets, and hung up in poor persons1 rooms. This man lived in Yorksquare, behind the Colosseum, then a not very reputable quarter. It is now Munster-square, and of a reformed character, but the seller of dogs and the donor of their portraits has for some time been lost sight of.

The prices at which fancy-dogs are sold in the .streets are about the same for all kinds. They run from 10*. to 5/. 5*., but are very rarely so towns 10s., as ” it’s only a very scrubby thing for that.” Two and three gnineas are frequent street prices for a spaniel or small terrier. Of the dogs sold, as I have before stated, more than one-half are spaniels. Of the remainder, more than one-half are terriers; and the surplusage, after this reckoning, is composed in ubout equal numbers of the other do£3 I have mentioned. The exportation of dogs is not above a twentieth of what it was before the appointment of the Select Committee, but a French or Belgium dealer sometimes comes to London to buy dogs.

It is not easy to fix upon any per-centage as to

the profit of the 6treet dog-sellers. There is the keep and the rearing of the animal to consider; and there is the same uncertainty in the traffic as in all traffics which depend, not upon a demand for use, but on the caprices of fashion, or—to use the more appropriate word, when writing on such a subject—of ” fancy.” A hawker may sell three dogs in one day, without any extraordinary effort, or, in the same manner of trading, and frequenting the very same places, may sell only one in three days. In the winter, the dogs are sometimes offered in public houses, but seldom as regards the higher-priced animals.

From the best data I can command, it appears that each hawker sells “three dogs and a half, if you take it that way, splitting a dog like, every week the year through ; that is, sir, four or five one week in the summer, when trade ‘s brisk and days are long, and only two or three the next week, when trade may be flat, and in winter, when there isn’t the same chance.” Calculating, then, that seven dogs are sold by eacli hawker in a fortnight, at an average price of 50.*. each, which is not a high average, and supposing that but twenty men are trading in this line the year through, we find that no less a sum than 9100/. is yearly expended in this street-trade. The weekly profit of the hawker is from 25.J. to 40j. More than seven-eighths of these dogs are bred in this country, Italian greyhounds included.

A hawker of dogs gave me a statement of his life, but it presented so little of incident or of change, that I need not report it. He had assisted and then succeeded his father in the business; was a pains-taking, temperate, and industrious man, seldom taking even a glass of ale, so that the tenour of his way had been even, antr* he was prosperous enough.

I will next give an account of the connection of the hawkers of dogs with the “sporting” or “fancy” part of the business; and of the present state of dog ** finding,” to show the change since the parliamentary investigation.

I may observe that in this traffic the word “fancy” has two significations. A dog recommended by its beauty, or any peculiarity, so that it be suitable for a pet-dog, is a ” fancy” animal; so is he if he be a fighter, or a killer of rats, however ugly or common-looking; but the term “sporting dog ” seems to become more and more used in this case: nor is the first-mentioned use of the word “fancy,” at all strained or very original, for it is lexicographically defined as *’ an opinion bred rather by the imagination than the reason, inclination, liking, caprice, humour, whim, frolick, idle scheme, vagary.”

Op Tiie Street-sellers Op Sporting Dogs. TnE use, if use it may be styled, of sporting, or fighting dogs, is now a mere nothing to what it once was. There are many sports—an appellation of many a brute cruelty—which have become extinct, Borne of them long extinct. Herds of bears, for instance, were once maintained in this country, merely to be baited by dogs. It was even a part of royal merry-making. It was a sport altogether congenial to the spirit of Henry Till.; and when his daughter, then Queen Mary, visited her sister Elizabeth at Hatfield House, now the residence of ihc Marquess of Salisbury, there was a bearbaiting for their delectation—after mass. Queen Elizabeth, on her accession to the throne, Beems to have bt-cn very partial to the baiting of bears and of bulls; for Bbe not uufrequently welcomed a foreign ambassador with such exhibitions. The historians of the day intimate—they dared do no more—that Elizabeth affected these rough sports the most in the decline of life, when she wished to seem still sprightly, active, and healthful, in the eyes of her courtiers and her subjects. Laneham, whose veracity has not been impeached—though Sir Walter Scott has pronounced him to be as thorough a coxcomb as ever blotted paper—thus describes a bear-bait in presence of the Queen, and after quoting his description I gladly leave the subject I make the citation in order to show and contrast the former with the present use of sporting dogs.

“It was a sport very pleasant to see the bear, with his pink eyes leering after his enemies, approach; the nimbleness and wait of the dog to take his advantage; and the force and experience of the bear again to avoid his assaults: if he were bitten in one place, how he would pinch in another to get free; that if he were taken once, then by what shift with biting, with clawing, with roaring, with tossing and tumbling, he would work and wind himself from them; and, when he was loose, to shake his ears twice or thrice, with the blood and the slaver hanging about his physiognomy.”

The suffering which constituted the great delight of the sport was even worse than this, in bull-baiting, for the bull gored or tossed the dogs to death more frequently than the bear worried or crushed ihem.

The principal place for the carrying on of these barbarities was at Paris Garden, not far from St. Saviour’s Church, Southwnrk. The clamour, and wrangling, and reviling, with and without blows, at these places, gave a proverbial expression to the language. “The place was like a bear-garden,” for “gardens” they were called. These pastimes beguiled the Sumlay afternoons more than any other time, and were among the chief delights of the people, *’ until,” writes Dr. Henry, collating the opinions of the historians of the day, “until the refined amusements of the drama, possessing themst-Ives by degrees of the public taste, if they did not mend the morals of the age, at least forced brutal barbarity to quit the stage.”

Of this sport in Queen Anne’s days, Strutt’s industry has collected advertisements telling of hear and bull-baiting at Hockley-in-the-Hole, an.l “Tuttlu “-fields, Westminster, and of dogfights at the same places. Marylebone was another locality famous for these pastimes, and for its breed of mastiffs, which dogs were most u**;d for baiting the bears, whilst bull-dogs were the antagonists of the bull. Gay, who was a sufficiently close observer, and a close cbserver of street-life too, as is well shown in

his “Trivia,” specifies these localities in one of his fables :—

“Both Hockley-hole and Mary-hone
The combats of my dog have known.”

Hockley-hole was not far from Smithfield-market.

In the same localities the practice of these sports lingered, becoming less and less every year, until about the middle of the last century. In the country, bull-baiting was practised twenty times more commonly than bear-baiting; for bulls were plentiful, and bears were not. There are, perhaps, none of our older country towns without the relic of its bull-ring—a strong iron ring inserted into a large stone in the pavement, to which the baited bull was tied; or a knowledge of the site where the bull-ring was. The deeds of the baiting-dogs were long talked of by the vulgar. These sports, and the dog-fights, maintained the great demand for sporting dogs in former times.

The only sporting dogs now in request—apart, of course, from hunting and shooting (remnants of the old barbarous delight in torture or slaughter)—for I am treating only of the streettrade, to which fox-hounds, harriers, pointers, setters, cockers, &c, &c, are unknown — are terriers and bull-terriers. Bull-dogs cannot now be classed as sporting, but only ns fancy dogs, for they are not good fighters, I was informed, one with another, their mouths being too small.

The way in which the sale of sporting dogs is connected with street-traffic is in this wise: Occasionally a sporting-dog is offered for sale in the streets, and then, of course, the trade is direct. At other times, gentlemen buying or pricing the smaller dogs, ask the cost of a bull-dog, or a bullterrier or rat-terrier, and the street-seller at once offers to supply them, and either conducts them to a dog-dcaler*s, with whom he may becommercially connected, and where they can purchase those dogs, or he waits upon them at their residences with some “likely animals.” A dog-dealer told me that he hardly knew what made many gentlemen so fond of bulldogs, and they were “the fonder on ’em the more blackguarder and varmintlooking the creatures was,” although now they were useless for sport, and the great praise of a bull-dog, ” never flew but at head in his life,” was no longer to be given to him, as there were no bulls at whose heads he could now fly.

Another dog-dealer informed me—with what truth as to the judgment concerning horses I do not know, but no doubt with accuracy as to the purchase of the dogs—that Ibrahim Pacha, when in London, thought little of the horses which he saw, but was delighted with the bull-dogs, ” and he weren’t so weny unlike one in the face Msself,” was said at the time by some of the fancy. Ibrahim, it seems, bought two of the finest and largest bull-dogs in London, of Bill George, giving no less than 70/. for the twain. The bulldogs now sold by the street-fnlk, or through their agency in the way I have described, are from t>t. to 251. each. The bull-terriers, of the best blood, are about the same price, or perhaps 10 to 15 per cent, lower, and rarely attaining the tiptop price.

Oude vrijste 1 (Google Books)

Adolf & Eva & de dood – Page 109
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Jeroen Brouwers – 1995 – ‎Snippet view – ‎More editions
een dashondje willen hebben en nu is daar weer niets van gekomen. Misschien volgend jaar. Of nog later, dan past het ook beter bij iemand die zo langzamerhand een oude vrijster begint te worden.’ Vijf dagen later: ‘Nu was hij er. Maar niks …
Woordenboek der Nederlandsche taal – Part 8 – Page 1377
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LEEUWHONDJE, zn w. onz., mv. -s. Uit Leeuw … Hondje VIII. aldus genaamd om dat het over al behalven aan de hals geschoren is, MARIN. … Een oude vrijster met zes leeuwtjes …, elk aan een rood zijden koord, TER Gouw, Volksverm. 687.
Algemeen Vlaamsch idioticon. [With] Bijvoegsel – Page 210
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Een oude jonge dochler is te Anlw. heizelfde wat men in Holland eene oude vrijster noeml. Jong aan zijn voorhoofd zijn bet. … JONKEREN , o. w., kermen gelijk jonge hondjes : wat dat hondje jonkeri! ( Limb. ) Hei is zooveel als janken , 4 welk …
Tijdschrift voor Nederlandse taal-en letterkunde – Volume 121 – Page 34
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… een verhaaltje als ‘De benauwenissen van juffrouw Lutteman’ ( 1 904), waarin een bekrompen oude vrijster wordt gehekeld en waarvan het … Een andere tekst, ‘Van mijn dode hondje’ (1917), heeft al evenzeer een metafysische ondertoon.
De Schaapherder: Een Verhaal Uit Den Utrechtschen Oorlog 1481-1483
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Hierna sprak hij het dankgebed uit, en de oude Griet verliet nu de tafel, bracht de overgebleven spijzen weg, en zette daarentegen eenige andere … Het hondje had zich namelijk op de bank tusschen Van Schaffelaar en zijne vrijster geplaatst …

Adolf & Eve & death – Page 109
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want a cockerel and now nothing has come of it. Maybe next year. Or later, it also fits better with someone who is gradually becoming an old lady. ‘ Five days later: “Now he was there. But nothing …
Dictionary of the Dutch language – Part 8 – Page 1377
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LION DOG, zn w. our, mv. -s. From Leo … Dog VIII. so called because it is shaved about the neck, MARIN. … An old lady with six lions …, each on a red silk cord, TER Gouw, Volksverm. 687.
General Flemish idioticon. [With] Supplement – Page 210
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An old young daughter is at Anlw. He lived in what is called an old lady in Holland. Young on his forehead his bet. … JONKEREN, o. W., Groan like young dogs: what that little dog jonkeri! (Limb.) Hei is as much as whining, 4 which …
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… a story like ‘The petitions of Miss Lutteman’ (1 904), in which a narrow old lady is denounced and whose … Another text, ‘From my dead dog’ (1917), has just as much a metaphysical undertones.
The Shepherd: A Story From The Utrecht War 1481-1483
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After this he gave the prayer of thanks, and the old Griet left the table, brought away the remaining food, and put on the other … The little dog had placed himself on the bench between Van Schaffelaar and his lady …

Proza en poezij, Volume 1
By Pieter Theodoor Helvetius van den Bergh
About this book

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te mogen verlangen, haar zijnen zoon of besten vriend toe te wenschen. Toen Willem hem derhalve, eenige weken te voren, zijne liefde kenbaar maakte, riep hij, bravo / en knikte hem aanmoedigend toe. Dit gaf dezen vrijheid, om hem dringend te verzoeken, hem een brief aan Mevrouw Westerglans, de formeele aanvraag behelzende, per omgaanden post, te willen toezenden. De Heer van Hecht deed beter, hij kwam in persoon, en schrikte niet weinig, toen hij zijn eerstgeborene le bras en écharpe aantrof. Willem verhaalde hem alles zonder eenige terughouding. Van Hecht schudde het hoofd, maar moest toch lagchen. Hij schudde het andermaal, toen zijne herinneringen hem de aanvankelijke onverzettelijkheid der oude vrijster verklaarden, en wenschte zich dubbel geluk, dat hij geen weduwnaar geworden was. Hij verlangde Adolf te zien, met wien hij weldra zeer was ingenomen. Den volgenden morgen deed hij, voor zich en zijn zoon, bij de Dames belet vragen. Jufvrouw Dunnelee wilde niet slechts toonen alles vergeven, maar ook schijnen alles vergeten te hebben. Toen de Heer van Hecht binnentrad, en, met eene eenigzins deftige buiging, de beide zusters naderde, trad zij, hoe innig geschokt ook, hem met een vriendelijk lachje te gemoet, en reikte hem de hand. Oude vrienden kennen geene pligtplegingen,” zeide zij. „Jonge verliefden, naar het schijnt, ook niet,” antwoordde de Heer van Hecht, op Willem en Cecilia wijzende, die reeds, in elkanders armen, hun geluk genoten. ,,Zij maken het ons onmogelijk, Mevrouw !” vervolgde hij tot Cecilia’s moeder, de zaak met de vereischte plegtigheid te behandelen. Zeg mij dus slechts…. gevoelt gij u even tevreden als ik mij gelukkig gevoel?” „Even gelukkig!” antwoordde Mevrouw Westerglans, met blijde opgetogenheid. „Het zij dan eene afgedane zaak!” sprak Jufvrouw Dunnelee. Vrolijk vierden zij het feest der liefde, het hoogste feest der zoete jeugd. Moogt gij het allen ook eenmaal vieren, jonge Lezers en Lezeressen ! in de schoone lente uwes levens, waarop een gelukkige zomer volge!

Willem van Hecht moest zijne aanstaande Tante beloven, dat hij zich te Leiden zou neerzetten. Mevrouw Westerglans werd met weinig moeite overgehaald, om haar buitenverblijfje op te zeggen, en voor goed bij hare zuster te gaan inwonen. Zij zou dan niet van Cecilia behoeven te scheiden, haar dagelijks kunnen zien, en welke opoffering kon in het moederlijk hart zulk een geluk opwegen! Het humeur van Jufvrouw Dunnelee verbeterde merkbaar. Wel bleven hare kwade buijen niet geheel weg, maar de goede werden ook minder zeldzaam. Hare passie voor Bibi bleef onverflaauwd, en deze steeds het afgodje, waarvoor een ieder knielen moest. Wacht maar!” fluisterde Willem zijne Cecilia toe, onze eerste lieveling zal haar dien lieveling wel doen vergeten!” en een vurige kus verhoogde dan het blosje, dat deze voorspelling haar op de wangen joeg.

Gelukkig voor Bibi, dat hij zoo iets niet beleefde. Weinige weken na het evenement zijner ontvoering, werd hij ziek en kwijnend. Noch de teederste zorgen zijner meesteres, noch het talent van Blaasop konden hem behouden. Met weduwlijke smart betreurde Jufvrouw Dunnelee haren gunsteling, dien zij, met bijna menschelijke eer, in haar tuintje ter aarde bestelde. Een zwart bord wijst er nog de plek aan, waar het dierbaar overblijfsel eene prooi der wormen werd. In groote, witte letters, waaronder drie keurig geschilderde hondendoodskopjes met toebehooren, leest men er op:

» Hier ligt Bibi! Deelt vrienden! in mijn rouw !
Hij was zoo goedig, dankbaar, trouw ! ….
O, ‘t lieve beest,
Ware een voortreflijk mensch geweest!”

Geen minder dichter dan de groote Cajetanus was de auteur van dit roerend grafschrift. De milddadigheid van Jufvrouw Dunnelee schatte zijn poëtisch genie nog boven dat van Byron, indien het waar is, dat deze slechts eene guinje voor elken regel ontving. Adolf had hem dat buitenkansje bezorgd, en bezorgde hem later een Commissaris-post bij een schuitenveer. Eene zeer prozaïsche betrekking voor zulk een poëtisch element, maar Caje

tanus was ontmoedigd. Met zijn treurspel was het allertreurigst v. D. BERGH, PROZA EN POEZIJ. 4

afgeloopen! Was het uitgefloten? Duizendmaal erger. Geen boekverkooper had het willen uitgeven, geene tooneeldirectie het willen opvoeren? Onbegrijpelijk! Een krachtig bewijs voor het diep verval der tragedie in ons Vaderland, waar men trouwens te vrij en te blij leeft, om met het treurige veel op te hebben. Dat was goed voor de Grieken, die al die voortreffelijke Instellers en Instellingen misten, welke ons zoo volop gelukkig en bij wijle zoo vrolijk maken. Cajetanus nam zijn postje ijverig waar. Wij hopen, dat hij het nóg doet. Het kostte hem, in den aanvang, wel eenige moeite, om zijne vrachtlijsten etc. niet in rijm te schrijven, maar een groot man weet elke moeijelijkheid te overwinnen. Op Adolf’s raad heeft hij zich nu geheel en al aan de zwelgpartijën der jonge lieden onttrokken, echter rookt hij, nu en dan, nog wel eens een pijpje met hen. De compagnieschap in de Bauwelaauwesteeg is ontbonden. Men zegt, dat de expoëet niet ongenegen zou zijn, op eene voorzigtige manier, den huwelijkssprong te wagen, maar het blaauwtje bij Jufvrouw Dunnelee heeft hem trotsch gemaakt, en zijne eischen misschien wat al te hoog opgevoerd. Voor eene mésalliance met zwarte Mie is althans geene vrees meer. Mogt eene fatsoenlijke jonge maagd of weduwe van onbesproken zeden, zachtzinnig humeur, aangenaam uiterlijk, en vooral niet ontbloot van tijdelijke middelen, lust gevoelen, om hem Jufvrouw Dunnelee te doen vergeten, hij zou volgaarne zijn best doen (en meer kan men niet), om haar hare vorige minnaars of mannen te doen vergeten. Doctor Blaasop poogde de in het hart der oude vrijster ontstane ledigheid vol te stoppen, door haar successivelijk zeven hondjes, het een al fraaijer dan het ander, aan te bieden. Zij weigerde die allen. Ten laatste bood hij zich zelven aan, maar met even weinig gevolg, misschien wel omdat hij toen juist aan het pootje lag. Gelukkig had hij te veel pleizier van zijne goede maag, om veel hinder van zijn gebroken hart te hebben, en was hij filozoof genoeg, om met de Wreede zelve over zijn blaauwtje te schertsen, en haar Doctor en huisvriend te blijven. Binnen weinige dagen had Jufvrouw Dunnelee haren Bibi in zóó ver vergeten, dat zij zich de moeite niet meer gaf, om, vierof vijfmaal daags, op zijn grafje tranen te gaan plengen. Er viel trouwens voor haar ook vrij wat anders te doen. Zij had een fraai dubbel huis op de Breestraat gekocht, hetwelk van het dak tot de fondamenten verbouwd moest worden, schoon er niets aan te verbeteren was. Dagelijks bragt zij er, met hare Zuster en haar Nichtje, uren in door, om de werklieden aan te sporen, tot groot genoegen van de bazen, die, daar hare tegenwoordigheid slechts verwarring en oponthoud veroorzaakte, aan de karrewei geen eind zagen. Gelukkig werd haar ijver, nog in tijds, naar haar eigen huis afgeleid, dat, in een tempel van Flora herschapen, zijne eigene sombere vertrekken niet meer herkende. De pracht van duizend bloemen verduisterde er den glans van het rijke huisraad, en in de anders doodstille zaal, nu tot eene schitterende feestzaal uitgedost, stroomde het weldra heilwenschen en hippocras. Eindelijk brak de schoone dag aan, waarop Willem van Hecht, die nu tot medicinae-doctor gepromoveerd was, de gelukkige echtgenoot der niet minder gelukkige Cecilia werd. Na de plegtigheid was er een prachtig dejeuner bij de oude vrijster, waarvan deze de honneurs met de meeste gratie waarnam. Behalve Mijnheer en Mevrouw van Hecht met hunne oudste kinderen en Mevrouw Westerglans, was er een aantal bloedverwanten tegenwoordig. Eigenlijke vreemden waren er niet. Blaasop achtte zich zulk een onmisbaar ingrediënt bij al het ongewone, dat er ten huize zijner vriendin plaats greep, dat hij, ook zonder uitnoodiging, zoude zijn verschenen. Zijne hartelijkheid bewees, dat het hem ditmaal niet enkel om de fijne schotels te doen was, schoon hij die geenszins veronachtzaamde, en de opgewondenheid, waarmede Adolf, op Willem’s uitdrukkelijk verlangen genoodigd, in het geluk zijns vriends deel nam, maakte hem den titel van broeder waardig. Na den afloop van het déjeuner, begaven zich de jonggehuwden op reis, keerden ook Mijnheer en Mevrouw van Hecht, alsmede de verdere bloedverwanten naar hunne respectieve woonplaatsen terug, ging Mevrouw Westerglans in stilte God danken, en Zijnen zegen voor hare kinderen afsmeeken, spoedde zich Jufvrouw Dunnelee naar het nieuwe huis, waar zij eene nieuwe revolutie te weeg bragt, en zette Adolf zich aan zijne Dissertatie. „Gelukkige Willem!” riep hij wel honderdmaal, en smeet telkens de pen op zij. Het vlotte niet. Dacht hij misschien met te veel geestdrift aan Willem’s zuster, die lieve, beeldschoone blondine, naast welke hij gezeten had? „Ik wil ernstig aan haar denken,” zeide hij, en het vlotte beter. Het is, terwijl ik dit schrijf, nog geene week geleden, dat Willem en Cecilia, na een afwezen van ruim twee maanden, terugkeerden. Zij hadden Parijs en een goed gedeelte van Frankrijk bezocht, en werden door Mevrouw Westerglans, Jufvrouw Dunnelee, Adolf, (die inmiddels zijn doctoralen graad met roem verworven had) en Blaasop allerhartelijkst verwelkomd. Het spreekt van zelf, dat Cecilia hare moeder en Tante oneindig veel te verhalen had, maar de laatste snakte naar een nog grooter genot, dan dat van haar aan te hooren. Allen moesten haar naar het nieuwe huis vergezellen, dat nu geheel in orde en allerfraaist gemeubeleerd was. Dáár genoot zij de verrassing der jonge lieden, die geene woorden konden vinden om hunne opgetogenheid, en vooral hun dankgevoel jegens de waardige Tante uit te drukken. Zij schepte er het grootst genoegen in, hun alles, tot in de minste bijzonderheden, aan te wijzen. Niets ontbrak er. Zelfs voor dienstboden en keukengereedschap had zij gezorgd, en in het koetshuis en den stal stonden drie élegante rijtuigen en een span paarden, dat eene plaats in de koninklijke stallen verdiende. Te midden der algemeene bewondering, trok zij haar Neef op zij, en stelde hem, benevens het eigendoms-bewijs van het huis, een vrij dik pakket ter hand, welks inhoud hem, zoo als zij zeide, in staat zou stellen, de eerste magere jaren zijner praktijk met glans door te worstelen. Willem en Cecilia vestigden zich nog dienzelfden dag in hunne woning. Adolf kwam er den volgenden bij hen dineren en afscheid nemen. Hij had zijn vertrek naar Amsterdam, waar hij zich als Advokaat ging neerzetten, tot de terugkomst zijner vrienden uitgesteld, en mogt zich nu niet langer te Leiden ophouden. Stellig moest hij echter beloven hen weldra, en vervolgens ten minste tweemaal ‘s jaars, te komen bezoeken. „En de eerste maal als je komt,” sprak Willem, hem met warmte de hand drukkende, kom je met uw meisje, hoor je?

Prose and poo, Volume 1
By Pieter Theodoor Helvetius van den Bergh
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to desire to wish her son or best friend. When William him therefore, some weeks before, made known his love, he said, bravo / and nodded at him encouragingly. This gave him the freedom to urge him to send him a letter to Madam Westerglans, containing the formal request, by mail. The Lord of Hecht did better, he came in person, and did not fear much when he found his firstborn le bras and écharpe . Willem told him everything without any reticence. Van Hecht shook his head, but still had to lay down. He shook it again, when his memories reminded him of the initial intransigence of the old ladydeclared, and he hoped double happiness that he had not become a widower. He longed to see Adol, with whom he was soon taken very seriously. The next morning he, for himself and his son, asked the Ladies to stop. Miss Dunnelee not only wanted to show everything forgiven, but also seemed to have forgotten everything. When the Lord van Hecht entered, and, with a somewhat dignified bow, approached the two sisters, she, however deeply shocked, seemed to meet him with a friendly smile, and reached out to him. Oldfriends do not know any duties, “she said. “Young lovers, it seems, not either,” replied the Lord van Hecht, pointing to Willem and Cecilia, who already enjoyed their happiness in each other’s arms. “They make it impossible for us, Madam!” He went on to Cecilia’s mother, to treat the case with the required penance. So just tell me …. do you feel as satisfied as I feel happy? “” Just be happy! “Answered Madam Westerglans, with joyful elation. “It is then a finished business!” Said Miss Dunnelee. They cheerfully celebrated the feast of love, the highest festival of sweet youth. May you also celebrate it all once, young readers and readers! in the fair spring of your lives, on which a happy summer follows!

Willem van Hecht had to promise his future Aunt that he would be in Leiden. Mrs. Westerglans was persuaded with little effort to quit her country residence, and to go to live with her sister. She would not have to divorce Cecilia, see her every day, and what sacrifice in the mother’s heart could outweigh such happiness! The mood of Miss Dunnelee improved noticeably. However, their bad tidings did not stay away completely, but the good also became less rare. Her passion for Bibiremained unaffected, and this always the idol, for which everyone had to kneel. Just wait! “William whispered to his Cecilia, our first darling will make her forget that darling!” And a fiery kiss raised the blush that this prophecy drove her on the cheeks.

Fortunately for Bibi, that he did not experience something like that. A few weeks after the event of his kidnapping, he became sick and languishing. Neither the most tender worries of his mistress nor the talent of Blaasop could keep him. With widowed sorrow, Miss Dunnelee regretted her favorite, whom she, with almost human honor, ordered in her little garden. A black sign still points to the spot where the precious remnant became a prey of the worms. In big white letters, including three neatly painted dog skulls with accessories, one reads:

»Here lies Bibi! Shares friends! in my mourning!
He was so good-natured, grateful, loyal! ….
O dear beast,
Have been a man of great excellence! ”

No less poet than the great Cajetanus was the author of this movable epitaph. The bounty of Miss Dunnelee estimated his poetic genius above that of Byron, if it is true that he received only a guinea for every rule. Adolf had given him that opportunity, and later gave him a Commissioner post at a barrage. A very prosaic relation for such a poetic element, but Caje

Tanus was discouraged. With his tragedy, it was most unfortunate by D. BERGH, PROZA and POEZIJ. 4

finished! Was it fired? A thousand times worse. No bookseller would have wanted to publish, no show directors want to perform it? Incomprehensible! Powerful evidence for the deep decline of tragedy in our homeland, where the way for free and be happy living,to deal with the sad one a lot. That was good for the Greeks, who missed all those excellent Instators and Institutions, which make us so happy and so cheerful. Cajetanus observed his post diligently. We hope that he will do it again. It cost him, at first, some trouble, not to write his lists of lading etc. in rhyme, but a great man knows how to overcome every difficulty. On Adolf’s counsel he has now completely withdrawn from the wallows of young people, but he sometimes smokes a pipe with them now and then. The company in the Bauwelaauwesteeghas been dissolved. It is said that the expoiet would not be unwilling to take a leap of faith in a careful way, but the whisper of Miss Dunnelee made him proud, and his demands perhaps increased too high. There is no fear at all for a facility with black Mie. If he is a decent young virgin or widow of uncontested morals, gentle temper, pleasant appearance, and especially not exposed to temporary means, lust to make him forget Miss Dunnelee, he will gladly do his best (and one can not do more), to make her forget her previous lovers or men. Doctor Blaasop tried the in the heart of the old ladyto fill up full emptiness, by successfully offering seven dogs, one more beautiful than the other. She refused all of them. At last he offered himself, but with as little consequence, perhaps because he was lying on the leg. Luckily he had too much pleasure from his good stomach, to have much trouble with his broken heart, and he was enough philosopher, to joke about his little beak with the Cruel himself, and to stay with her Doctor and friend. Within a few days, Miss Dunnelee had forgotten her Bibi so much that she no longer bothered to shed tears at his grave, four or five times a day. There was also something else to do for her. She had a nice double house on the Breestraatpurchased, which had to be rebuilt from the roof to the foundations, there was nothing to improve on it. Every day she, with her Sister and her Niece, spent hours urging the laborers to the delight of the bosses, who, since their presence caused only confusion and delay, did not see any end to the karrewei. Fortunately her zeal, still in time, was diverted to her own house, which, in a temple of Flora, did not recognize his own gloomy rooms any more. The splendor of a thousand flowers darkened the splendor of the rich household goods, and in the otherwise completely silent room, now decked out into a splendid banquet hall, the soon-to-be salvation and hippocras flowed. Finally the beautiful day broke, whereupon Willem van Hecht, now a medical doctorwas promoted, the happy husband of no less fortunate Cecilia. After the ceremony there was a beautiful dejeuner at the old free star, of which the honorswith the most grace. Except Mr and Mrs van Hecht with their oldest children and Mrs. Westerglans, there were a number of relatives nowadays. There were no actual strangers. Blaasop considered himself such an indispensable ingredient with all the unusual things that took place at his friend’s house, that he would have appeared, even without invitation. His cordiality proved that this time it was not only for him to do fine dishes, but he who in no way neglected, and the excitement with which Adolf, invited to William’s express desire, took part in the happiness of his friend, made him the title of brother worthy. After the end of the déjeuner,When the newlyweds started their journey, Mr. and Mrs. van Hecht, as well as the other relatives, returned to their respective residences, Mrs. Westerglans silently thanked God, and blessed His blessing for their children, Miss Dunnelee hurried to the new house, where she brought about a new revolution, and Adolf set himself to his Dissertation. “Happy William!” He cried a hundred times, and each time he threw the pen aside. It is not smooth. Perhaps he thought with too much enthusiasm to Willem’s sister, that sweet, beautiful blonde,besides which he had been? “I want to think seriously about her,” he said, and it got better. It is, as I write this, not even a week ago, that Willem and Cecilia, after a rejection of more than two months, returned. They had visited Paris and a good part of France, and were warmly welcomed by Madam Westerglans, Miss Dunnelee, Adolf, (who had by now acquired his doctorate degree with fame) and Blaasop. It speaks for itself that Cecilia had to tell her mother and Auntie infinitely a lot, but the latter longed for an even greater pleasure than hearing from her. All had to accompany her to the new house, which was now completely in order and completely furnished. There she enjoyed the surprise of the young people, who could find no words for their elation, and especially to express their thanksgiving towards the worthy Aunt. She had the greatest pleasure in pointing out everything to the least detail. Nothing was missing. She had even taken care of housekeeping and kitchen utensils, and three elegant carriages and a pair of horses in the coach house and stable, which earned a place in the royal stables. In the midst of general admiration, she pulled her Cousin aside, and, in addition to the property proof of the house, presented him with a rather thick package, the contents of which, as she said, would enable him to take the first skinny years of his practice with wrinkle by struggling. Willem and Cecilia settled in their home that same day. Adolf came to dinner with them and say good-bye to them. He had his departure for Amsterdam, where he set himself up as a Advokate, until the return of his friends postponed, and may no longer cease to be in Leiden. Surely, however, he had to promise to visit them soon, and then at least twice a year. “And the first time you come,” Willem said, pressing his hand with heat, you come with your girl, do you hear?

De Schaapherder: Een Verhaal Uit Den Utrechtschen Oorlog 1481-1483, Volume 1
By J.F. Oltmans
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»Eene mooie gekke vrouw met geld is zoo kwaad niet, als zij maar niet mijdig is,” zeide Wouter.

»Ik hoop toch, dat Frank haar niet zal nemen; een jongen, die zijne ouders niet kent, is ook geen goed man voor zulk een vrouw

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van aanzien,” zeide Martha. »En waarom niet?” zeide Wouter ; »het kan wel zijn, dat, zooals Van Schaffelaar zegt, onze arme Frank niet van de jonkvrouw houdt, en evenwel zin heeft in hare bezittingen; voor een armen ruiter is het geen zaak van klein gewicht, om in eens zoo maar een rijk man te worden , dat brengt den jongen van zijn stuk.” »Ik geloof niet, vader ! dat Frank een vrouw zal nemen uit eigenbelang,” zeide Maria ; »gaarne zou ik haar eens zien, die hem bemint. Zij is schoon, niet waar, Jan ? en niet trotsch; ik houd reeds veel van haar, omdat zij Frank liefheeft en wil wedden, dat men haar zinneloos noemt, omdat zij een armen verlaten ruiter bemint : en ik, ik vind, dat het een bewijs is van hare oprechtheid en der goedheid van haar hart.” »Spreek altijd zoo, Maria !” riep Van Schaffelaar aangedaan, en hij sloot haar in zijne armen, »en nimmer zal het mij vervelen naar u te luisteren ; indien ik u niet reeds met geheel mijn hart beminde, dan zou ik u in dit oogenblik voor eeuwig mijne liefde schenken.” »En vreest gij niet, heer Jan Van Schaffelaar !” zeide zij vriendelijk lachende, terwijl zij zijn haar met hare fijne vingers gladstreek, »dat men u voor zinneloos zal houden, omdat gij de vrijer zijt van Maria, Wouter’s dochter ? Bedenk eens, gij, een edelman, en ik, een burgermeisje ; gij, zoo dapper, zoo gezien bij den eerwaarden heer Bisschop en alle krijgslieden, en ik . . .” »En gij, zoo bevallig, ofschoon wat dartel,” viel Van Schaffelaar haar in de rede, en drukte hare hand aan zijne lippen; »hoe men mij noemt om onze liefde, scheelt mij weinig ; alleen als ik uw hart verloor, zou ik zinneloos worden, Maria ! . . . doch voor korten tijd slechts ; weldra zou ik sterven van verdriet…” »Dat nimmer,” zeide zij zacht, en een traan ontrolde haar bekoorlijk oog ! »indien mijn hart u ontrouw werd, zou het aan mij staan om van berouw en smart te sterven, maar neen, Jan ! bij de Heilige Moeder Gods, ik gevoel, dat ik u altijd zal liefhebben.” »Om mij voortdurend gelukkig te maken,” zeide Van Schaffelaar, haar op het voorhoofd kussende. » Amen!” zeide de smid ; »onder uw goedvinden zullen wij God danken voor hetgeen wij genoten hebben.” Hierna sprak hij het dankgebed uit, en de oude Griet verliet nu de tafel, bracht de overgebleven spijzen weg, en zette daarentegen eenige andere gerechten op de tafel, hoofdzakelijk bestaande uit fijn brood, dat hard gebakken was, boter en een paar soorten van kaas, onderscheidene soorten van koekjes, amandelen, okkernoten, enz. Griet verliet nu het vertrek, dewijl zij geen deelnam aan het nagerecht. Vrouw Martha had op last van haar man een nieuwe kan wijn gehaald, Maria voor haar en hare moeder ook zilveren bekers gekregen, en de smid deed de deur dicht, toen zijne vrouw gezeten was. »Ziezoo !” zeide hij »nu zijn wij eens geheel onder ons, uitgezonderd de kleine Snip, die zich onder de vrienden geplaatst heeft.” Het hondje had zich namelijk op de bank tusschen Van Schaffelaar en zijne vrijster geplaatst, en niet voldaan met het koekje, dat de laatste hem reeds gegeven had, zag hij dan hem, dan haar met bedelende blikken aan, ja verstoutte zich nu en dan zelfs hunne aandacht tot zich te trekken door een zacht gekef of het aankrabben met zijn poot. »Wat zit die hond daar aardig, Martha!” vervolgde hij; »hebt gij niet eens verteld, Maria ! dat de hond het zinnebeeld der getrouwheid is?” »Ja, vader ! ten minste zoo is mij meer dan eens gezegd,” antwoordde zij, en streelde den kleinen Snip. »Welnu, kinderen !” vervolgde hij ernstig, ik hoop dat dit onnoozele dier een voorteeken zal zijn van de getrouwheid, die tusschen u beiden zal plaats vinden ; een getrouwe vrouw is zoo noodig voor den krijgsman, als hij op last van zijn leenheer of aangenomen gebieder in het veld trekt, en een soldaat heeft driemaal zooveel getrouwheid noodig als een burger, om zijn vrouw en de huwelijks

trouw niet te vergeten, als het in den oorlog lustig toegaat; ik weet er zoowat van, ofschoon ik nog vrij man was, toen ik de wapens droeg.” »Ook zou ik u nooit genomen hebben, als gij niet van het soldatenleven hadt afgezien, Wouter !” zei Martha. »Ik voor mij,” antwoordde hij lachende, »ik wil niet zeggen, dat ik u niet zou hebben durven trouwen, zoolang ik nog soldaat was.” » Kom, kom, Wouter ! staak nu eens vooral die malle praatjes ; de tijd gaat zoo spoedig om, dat wij dien niet behoeven te verslijten met elkander te hekelen ; heer Jan heeft mij gezegd, dat hij iets wenschte te vragen, waartoe het mij nu voorkomt, dat dit oogenblik zeer geschikt zou zijn.” Dit zeggende, wierp Martha een vriendelijken en aanmoedigenden blik op Van Schaffelaar. » Welnu, het zal mij genoegen doen te vernemen, wat onze gast te zeggen heeft of verlangt; ik heb zijne gedachten reeds vooruit geraden ; een oud soldaat weet wat een edelman verlangt, als hij ten oorlog gaat. Heb ik wel geraden, Van Schaffelaar ? Nu, zeg op, gij schijnt te aarzelen ; ik weet het toch al, en heb er voor gezorgd; een opperdeugdzaam harnas heb ik voor u klaargemaakt.” »Och, Wouter !” riep Martha knorrig, »gij droomt van harnassen ; heer Jan denkt daar niet aan.” » Hoor, vrouwlief!” antwoordde hij, »bemoei u met uwe huishouding, maar niet met dingen, waarvan gij niets weet ; ik weet beter dan gij de gedachten van een krijgsman te raden, wat zegt gij er van, Van Schaffelaar ! heb ik het geraden of niet?” »Ja en neen, meester !” antwoordde deze, »zeker verlangt een ruiter met goede wapenen te dienen ; en ofschoon ik reeds vroeger deugdzaam bewerkte wapens van u heb gekregen, kan een nieuw stel mij nimmer te onpas komen, vooral als zij door u of in uwe werkplaats vervaardigd zijn: een goed soldaat haakt steeds naar eene goede rusting. Aan die zijde hebt gij dus aan mijn verlangen voldaan, reeds voordat het tot rijpheid gekomen was, ik dank u van harte.” Dit zeggende, reikte hij hem de hand, waarna hij vervolgde: »Aan de andere zijde moet ik erkennen, dat uwe vrouw gelijk heeft, dat ik u over een ander onderwerp wenschte te spreken; namelijk over iets, dat mij dierbaarder is dan mij zelven, en u meer dan al uwe wapenen en bezittingen , ik wenschte u te spreken over Maria.” »Zeer gaarne zal ik en mijne vrouw aanhooren, wat gij te zeggen hebt,” zeide de smid ; »want van die zaken weet Martha ook mede te praten, en Maria zal gaarne luisteren. Nu, nu, kind ! bloos maar niet.” » Meester !” zeide Van Schaffelaar, »reeds een jaar is er verloopen, sedert het mij werd toegestaan Maria te vrijen ; voor mij, die haar reeds sedert lang beminde, is deze tijd omgevlogen; ik heb haar thans zoo lief, als ik voorheen niet wist, dat ik zou kunnen liefhebben; haar gedrag, hare opvoeding, haar inborst heb ik leeren kennen, ofschoon ik hare deugden niet naar behooren weet te schatten.” »0, Jan ! zeg niets meer,” zeide Maria verlegen. »Ik bid u, zeg niets meer.” »En waarom zou ik aan uwe waardige ouders niet zeggen, Maria ! hoe hoog ik u acht ; doch ik wil u wel gehoorzamen en vervolgen. Beste vrienden ! wat mij zelven betreft, Maria zal het best weten, hoe na ik haar aan het hart lig, en ik mag aan u, hare ouders, indien gij zelven er niet reeds van bewust waart, wel zeggen, zonder onbescheiden te zijn, dat ik mij durf vleien, dat mijne liefde haar niet ongevallig is ; zij heeft mij immers reeds zoovele blijken gegeven van teedere verknochtheid. Dit alles, waarde meester ! gevoegd bij den tegenwoordigen toestand van het land, doet er mij naar haken, om door een naderen, meer vasten en onverbreekbaren band aan haar verbonden te worden ; ik ben gekomen ten einde u om hare hand te verzoeken, en haar voor God en de menschen tot mijne echte vrouw te nemen.” Toen hij begon te spreken, kon men hooren dat hij sterk aangedaan was, maar langzamerhand werd zijne stem vaster en meer bedaard. Deze woorden, die met zooveel gevoel werden uitgesproken, dat Maria en hare moeder tranen stortten van aandoening, en zelfs de oogen van den ruwen werkman vochtig werden, verrieden dat Van Schaffelaar de waarde kende van zijn verzoek. Kan er ook iets van

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meer belang voor den braven edelman zijn dan de keuze van eene

DE SCHAAPHERDER, I. 4

deugdzame huisvrouw, de moeder zijner kinderen, van haar, aan wie hij zijne eer en die van zijn geslacht wil toevertrouwen ? »Heer Van Schaffelaar !” zeide de smid, na eenige oogenblikken gezwegen te hebben, »ik had dit verzoek moeten verwachten, maar zie, ik dacht er niet aan. Ik zal niet zeggen, hoe het ons vereert, u om de hand onzer dochter aanzoek te zien doen ; de geheele stad moge er verwonderd over zijn, ik niet; ik ken u, en weet dat Maria, ofschoon niet van adel, uwer waardig is , ik dank u dus in haar naam. Maar,” vervolgde hij aarzelende, »zou het wel een geschikte tijd zijn om bruiloft te houden ? Indien gij haar met u medevoert, zal zij dan hier, dan daar haar verblijf moeten houden; hare moeder en ik zelf zouden dat niet gaarne zien. Uwe jonge vrouw hier achter te laten, komt mij ook niet aannemelijk voor; een vrouw moet immers lief en leed deelen met haar man ; ik weet inderdaad niet, wat te doen. Wat zegt gij er van, Martha ?” »Ik bedank heer Jan voor zijn aanzoek, en uit naam van Maria,” zeide zij, omaar om haar nu te missen, en het meisje, dat ik zoo lang met zorg heb opgevoed, zoo maar op hare jaren de wereld te laten ingaan, en wel in dezen akeligen tijd, ach neen ! daartoe kan ik niet besluiten.” » Bedenk, meester ! bedenk, lieve moeder !” hernam Van Schaffelaar met vuur, »dat juist die redenen mij overhalen om op mijn aanzoek te blijven staan. Maria is nog jong, het is zoo, maar ik ben zoo jeugdig niet; een jongeling is veeltijds zonder reden ongeduldig in huwelijkszaken; op mijn jaren ben ik het op vaster gronden. Zal Maria niet veiliger wezen als mijne vrouw, dan zonder deze aanspraak op elks ontzag? Is er iets heiliger, na een moeder, dan een getrouwde vrouw ? ik geloof het niet. En dan nog dewijl ik zie, dat het woord er uit moet, juist in dezen tijd, juist omdat weldra de oorlog met Woede kan beginnen, zou het mij zoo onbegrensd gelukkig maken, Maria de mijne te kunnen noemen, voordat, o ja, mijne vrienden !

voordat misschien de dood mij verhindert haar echtgenoot te worden.”

The Shepherd: A Story From The Utrecht War 1481-1483, Volume 1
By JF Oltmans
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“A pretty crazy woman with money is not so bad, if she is not averse,” said Wouter.

“I hope that Frank will not take her; a boy who does not know his parents is not a good man for such a woman either

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of sight, “said Martha. “And why not?” Said Wouter; “It may well be that, as Van Schaffelaar says, our poor Frank does not love the damsel, but is interested in her possessions; for a poor rider it is not a matter of small weight, to become just a rich man, that will upset the boy. “” I do not believe, father! that Frank will take a wife out of self-interest, “said Maria; “I would love to see her who loves him. She’s clean, is not she, Jan? and not proud; I love her very much because she loves Frank and wants to bet that she is called senseless because she loves an abandoned rider: and I, I think, it is a proof of her sincerity and the goodness of her heart. “” Always speak, Mary! “Cried Van Schaffelaar, and he closed her in his arms, “And it will never bother me to listen to you; If I did not already love you with all my heart, then in this moment I would give you my love forever. “” And do not you fear, Sir Jan Van Schaffelaar! “she said gently smiling, while she stroked her hair with her fine fingers. smoothly, »that one will keep you senseless, because you are the freeman of Maria, Wouter’s daughter? Just think, you, a nobleman, and I, a burgermeister; You, so brave, so seen by the venerable Lord Bishop and all the warriors, and me. . “” And you, so pleasing, though somewhat frivolous, “interrupted Van Schaffelaar, and pressed her hand to his lips; “How people call me about our love, makes little difference to me; only if I lost your heart would I become senseless, Mary! . . . but for a short time only; soon I would die of grief … “” Never, “she said softly, and a tear unraveled her charming eye! “If my heart were unfaithful to you, it would be up to me to die of repentance and sorrow, but no, Jan! to the Holy Mother of God, I feel that I will always love you. “” To keep me happy, “said Van Schaffelaar, kissing her on the forehead. “Amen!” Said the smith; “With your permission we will thank God for what we have enjoyed.” After this he spoke the prayer of thanks, and the oldGriet now left the table, removed the remaining food, and put a few other dishes on the table, mainly consisting of fine bread, hard-fried, butter and a few kinds of cheese, different kinds of biscuits, almonds, walnuts, etc. Griet left the room now, because she did not take part in the dessert. Woman Martha had bought a new wine from her husband, Mary had received silver cups for her and her mother, and the blacksmith closed the door when his wife was seated. “See,” he said, “now we are all among us, except for the little Snip, who has placed himself among the friends.” The little dog was sitting on the bench between Van Schaffelaar and his lover.placed, and not satisfied with the biscuit, which the latter had already given him, he saw him, then looked at her with begging glances, yes, even now and then even their attention turned to them by a soft yown or the scratching with his paw. “What is that nice dog, Martha!” He continued; “Did you not even tell me, Maria! that the dog is the symbol of fidelity? “” Yes, father! at least such has been said to me more than once, “she replied, stroking the little Snip. “Well, children,” he continued earnestly, I hope that this insatiable animal will be a sign of the faithfulness that will take place between you. a faithful woman is so necessary for the warrior, when he goes into the field by order of his liege lord or bylawed commander,

faith not to be forgotten, if it goes wildly in the war; I know about it, although I was still a pretty man, when I carried the weapons. “” I would never have taken you, if you had not abandoned the soldier’s life, Wouter! “said Martha. “For me,” he replied, laughing, “I do not want to say that I would not have dared to marry you as long as I was a soldier.” “Come, come, Wouter! stop now especially those silly talks; time passes so quickly that we do not have to wear it out of our own; Mr. Jan told me that he wished to ask something, to which it now appears to me that this moment would be very suitable. “So saying, Martha gave a friendly and encouraging glance to Van Schaffelaar. “Well, I will be pleased to hear what our guest has to say or desires; I have already guessed his thoughts ahead; an old soldier knows what a nobleman wants when he goes to war. Have I guessed, Van Schaffelaar? Now, say, you seem to hesitate; I already know, and have taken care of it; I have prepared for you a supreme suit of armor. “” Oh, Wouter! “Martha cried grumbly,” you dream of armor; Mr. Jan does not think about that. “” Hear, my dear, “he replied,” interfere with your household, but not with things of which you know nothing; I know better than to guess the thoughts of a warrior, what do you say about it, Van Schaffelaar! have I guessed it or not? “” Yes and no, master! “he answered,” certainly a rider desires to serve good weapons; and although I have already received virtuously processed weapons from you, a new couple can never be mistaken, especially if they are made by you or in your workshop: a good soldier always keeps on a good rest. On that side you have fulfilled my desire, even before it came to maturity, I thank you very much. “So saying, he reached out to him, and he continued:” On the other side, I must acknowledge that yours woman is right, that I wish to speak to you about another subject; namely over something that is dear to me more than myself, and to you more than all your weapons and belongings, I wish to speak to you about Mary. “” I will gladly listen to my wife and to what you have to say, “said the blacksmith; “Because Martha also knows how to talk about these things, and Maria will gladly listen. Now, now, child! do not blush. “” Master! “said Van Schaffelaar,” a year has passed since I was allowed to make love to Mary; for me, who has loved her for a long time, this time has flown; I now love her so much as I did not know before, that I could love; her behavior, her upbringing, I have come to know her character, although I do not know how to judge her virtues. “” 0, Jan! say nothing more, “said Maria shyly. “I pray you, say nothing more. “” And why should I not tell your worthy parents, Mary! how high I think you are; but I want to obey you and persecute you. Best friends ! As far as I am concerned, Mary will know best how after my heart, and I may say to you, her parents, if you yourself were not aware of it, without being disquieted, that I am dare to flatter that my love is not unfortunate to her; after all, she has already given me so many expressions of tenderness. All this, value master! joined with the present state of the land, it hooks me to be bound to it by an approaching, more fasting and unbreakable bond; I have come to ask you for her hand, and to take her for God and men to my real wife. “When he began to speak, one could hear that he was greatly affected, but gradually his voice became firmer and more quiet. These words, pronounced with so much feeling, that Mary and her mother shed tears of affliction, and even the eyes of the rough laborer became damp, betrayed that Van Schaffelaar knew the value of his request. Can something of it

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more importance for the brave nobleman than the choice of one

DE SCHAAPHERDER, I. 4

a virtuous wife, the mother of his children, of whom he wishes to entrust his honor and that of his family? “Lord Van Schaffelaar!” Said the blacksmith, after being silent for a few moments, “I should have expected this request, but, behold, I did not think about it. I will not say how it honors us to see you doing the hand of our daughter; the whole city may be surprised, not me; I know you, and know that Mary, though not of nobility, is worthy of you, so thank you in her name. But, “he continued hesitantly,” would it be a suitable time to hold a wedding? If you bring her with you, she will then have to stay here, then there; her mother and I would not like to see that. Leaving your young wife here behind is also unlikely; a woman must share love and suffering with her husband; I do not know what to do. What do you say about it, Martha? “” I thank Mr. Jan for his proposal, and in the name of Mary, “she said, now to miss her, and the girl, whom I have so long brought up with care, to let the world enter the world in its years, and in this awful time, oh no! I can not decide for that. “» Remember, master! remember, dear mother! “Van Schaffelaar resumed with fire,” that precisely these reasons persuade me to stand by my proposal. Mary is still young, it is true, but I am not so young; a young man is often impatient in matrimonial matters for no reason at all; in my years I am on solid ground. Will not Mary be safer than my wife, then without this claim to every awe? Is something more sacred, after a mother, then a married woman? I do not believe it. And then, even though I see that the word needs to be done, precisely at this time, precisely because soon the war with anger can begin, it would make me so limitlessly happy to call Mary mine, before, oh yes, mine. friends!

before perhaps death prevents me from becoming her husband. “

The old maid in the Netherlands (Google Books)

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De huisvriend: gemengde lectuur voor burgers in stad en land
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1871 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
v t Is wel al vaak opgemerkt, dat de meeste vroeger uitstekende schoonheden dikwijls als oude vrijsters sterven. … door met groene hondjes op geel stramien te stikken, terwijl zij hare avonden aan de eenzaamheid en romanlectuur toewijden.
De oude vrijster en de getrouwde vrouw, of het voor en tegen des …
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Miss Ross – 1828 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
J Dit onderhoud veroorzaakte eenige oogenblik’ ‘ ken van stilte , en Philipson hield zich met zijn hondje bezig, om niet uit te barsten van lagchen over het gramstorig uitzigt der verne’ derde Mevr. Arlingham. ‚ Na hete ontbijt ging zij een keurig’ …
Geïllustreerd nieuws: tijdschrift bevattende berigten over alle …
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1867 – ‎Read
Daarvan weten de Brusselsche honden en hondjes dezer dagen eene treurige geschiedenis te verhalen. Tot voor … De kostbaarste jachthond, het Bologneser hondje, dat op dan schoot van eene oude vrijster was opgevoed, de prachtigste …
Anti-homoeopathisch nieskruid, bevattende twee aschdag-predikatiën …
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1835 – ‎Read
De deugniet van een’ hond loopt naar buiten en geneest zich allopathisch met gras. 5’2. Nadat de eerlte … Het hondje behoort aan eene oude jufl’er, die het van hare ‚overledene tante , insgelijks eene oude vrijster , geërfd had. Het is goed …
De antwoorder – Volume 1 – Page 253
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1792 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
Ik weet wel dat men, op zommige plaatzen, aan de Kapjes der jonge en oude Vrijsters, zien kan, welk een Leeraar zij … als men het groot onderscheid, dat er tusschen het hoofd van het Meisje zelfs, en tusschen de staart van haar hondje, …
Algemeen Vlaamsch Idioticon – Page 210
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1870 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
Een oude jonge dochier is te Antw. helzelsde wat men in Hol- land eene oude vrijster noeml. Jong aan zijn voorhoofd zijn bel. … JONKEREN , o. w., kermen gelijk jonge hondjes : wat dat hondje jonkerl ! (Limb.) Het is zooveel a\s janken, …
Proza en poezij – Volume 1 – Page 74
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Pieter Theodoor Helvetius van den Bergh – 1863 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
Doctor Blaasop poogde de in het hart der oude vrijster ontstane ledigheid vol te stoppen, door haar successivelijk zeven hondjes, het een al fraaijer dan het ander, aan te bieden. Zij weigerde die allen. Ten laatste bood hij zich zelven aan, …
Algemeen Vlaamsch idioticon, uitgegeven op last van … – Page 210
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Lodewijk Willem Schuermans – 1870 – ‎Read
Een oude jonge dochter is te Antw. hetzelfde wat men in Holland eene oude ‘vrijster noemt. Jong aan zijn voorhoofd zijn Μι. , omstr. Kortrijk … Πι Br. heet het vonken οι’ prullen. JONKEREN , o. w., ΜΜΜ gelijk jonge hondjes : wat dat hondje …
Groot Nederland – Volume 2 – Page 192
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,,Als hun paard of hun hond ziek is, merk je ‘t ook,” zei de veearts, die niet langer zwijgen kon. „Ik heb een boom van een kerel zien huilen als een oude vrijster, toen zoo’n miserabel klein mormel van een Japansch hondje gestorven was.
De wereld zoo als zij is – Volume 1 – Page 91
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Hieronymus de Vitter – 1857 – ‎Read
Niemand heeft minder idée van geldzorgen, dan een oude vrijster. … worden: de oppositiebladen, die zelfs de edelste handelingen der mannen, afkeuren: – de zorgvuldigste moeders van hondjes en poesjes, met rinkelende belletjes om: – en …

The family friend: mixed reading for citizens in town and country
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1871 – Read – More editions
v t It has often been noticed that most formerly excellent beauties often die like old lovers. … by stinging yellow puppies with green dogs, while dedicating their evenings to solitude and roman culture.
The old lady and the married woman, or the for and against the …
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Miss Ross – 1828 – Read – More editions
J This maintenance caused a few moments of silence, and Philipson was busy with his dog, not to burst out of lagching over the grammy view of the distant third Mrs. Arlingham. , After hot breakfast she went a neat ‘…
Illustrated news: magazine containing reports about all …
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1867 – Read
Of these, the Brussels dogs and dogs know a sad history these days. Until … The most precious hunting dog, the Bologneser dog, that was born from an old lady, the most beautiful …
Anti-homoeopathic hellebore, containing two aschdag-preachings …
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1835 – Read
The scabbard of a dog walks out and heals itself allopathically with grass. 5’2. After the honor … The dog belongs to an old teacher, who inherited it from her deceased aunt, like an old lady. It is well …
The Responder – Volume 1 – Page 253
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1792 – Read – More editions
I know that one can see, in some places, at the Kapjes of the young and old Vrijsters, which one is an instructor … if one makes the great difference, that even between the head of the Girl, and between the tail of her dog, …
General Vlaamsch Idioticon – Page 210
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1870 – Read – More editions
An old young daughter is in Antw. it was shuddering what people in Holland call an old lover. Young on his forehead his bell. … JONKEREN, o. W., Groan like young dogs: what that little dog jonkerl! (Limb.) It’s so much as a whine, …
Prose and poo – Volume 1 – Page 74
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Pieter Theodoor Helvetius van den Bergh – 1863 – Read – More editions
Doctor Blaasop attempted to fill up the emptiness that had arisen in the heart of the old lady, by offering her seven puppies successively, the one fragrier than the other. She refused all of them. At last he offered himself, …
General Vlaamsch idioticon, issued by order of … – Page 210
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Lodewijk Willem Schuermans – 1870 – Read
An old young daughter is in Antw. the same thing that in Holland is called an old “lover”. Young on his forehead are Μι. , omstr. Kortrijk … Πι Br. it is called sparking οι ‘trash. JONKEREN, o. W., ΜΜΜ the same young dogs: what that little dog …
Greater Netherlands – Volume 2 – Page 192
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1927 – Snippet view – More editions
“If their horse or their dog is sick, you will notice it too,” said the vet, who could no longer keep silent. “I saw a guy’s tree cry like an old lady, then such a miserable little mutt. a Japanese dog died.
The world as it is – Volume 1 – Page 91
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Hieronymus de Vitter – 1857 – Read
No one has less idea of ​​money worries than an old lover. … become: the opposition papers, which reject even the noblest acts of men: – the most careful mothers of dogs and kittens, with ringing bells to: – and …

Heilige stenen: en andere verhalen : keuze uit eigen werk – Page 49
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Annie Salomons – 1957 – ‎Snippet view
‘Als hun paard of hun hond ziek is, merk je ‘t ook’, zei de veearts, die niet langer zwijgen kon. ‘Ik heb een boom van een kerel zien huilen als een oude vrijster, toen zo’n miserabel klein mormel van een Japans hondje gestorven was. ‘Het was …
Jonge-jufvrouwen – Page 167
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Boudewijn (pseud. van J.L. van der Vliet.) – 1875 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
Hoe dikwerf wandelde zij in die lange, lommerrijke kastanjelaan, daar ginds, voor mijn venster, met het kleine hondje, dat … waar de tortels paren op het graf der oude vrijster, voor wie de bloem der liefde bloeide, maar nimmer vruchten droeg.
Europa: verzameling van uit- en inlandsche lettervruchten ter …
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1857 – ‎Read – ‎More editions
… dat gij als oude vrijster zult sterven. Maar er zijn nog meer gebreken, die u voeren tot dien ongelukkigsten aller toestanden, dien ik, men moge mij van bijgeloovigheid beschuldigen, hier niet wil verzwijgen; neemt toch nooit een hondje voor …
Ballingen – Page 60
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Annie Salomons – 1927 – ‎Snippet view
„Als hun paard of hun hond ziek is, merk je ‘t ook,” zei de veearts, die niet langer zwijgen kon. „Ik heb een boom van een kerel zien huilen als een oude vrijster, toen zoo’n miserabel klein mormel van een Japansch hondje gestorven was.

Sacred stones: and other stories: choice of own work – Page 49
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Annie Salomons – 1957 – Snippet view
“If their horse or their dog is sick, you will notice it too,” said the vet, who could no longer keep silent. “I saw a guy’s tree crying like an old lady, when such a miserable little mutt of a Japanese dog died. ‘It was …
Young lady women – Page 167
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Baudouin (pseud of J.L. van der Vliet.) – 1875 – Read – More editions
How often did she walk in that long, leafy chestnut tree, over there, in front of my window, with the little dog, … where the doves mate on the tomb of the old lady, for whom the flower of love flourished, but never bore fruit? .
Europe: collection of native and native Dutch fruit …
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1857 – Read – More editions
… that you will die as an old lover. But there are still more flaws which lead you to the most unfortunate of all the conditions which I, may I, accuse me of being superstitious, do not want to be silent here; never takes a dog for …
Outlaws – Page 60
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Annie Salomons – 1927 – Snippet view
“If their horse or their dog is ill, you will notice it too,” said the vet, who could no longer keep silent. “I saw a guy’s tree crying like an old lady, then such a miserable little mutt of a Japanese dog had died.

Europa: verzameling van uit- en inlandsche lettervruchten ter …, Volume 45
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van Eester een mooije mantille om; die wil ook met geweld een vrijer oploopen, want bij nacht en ontijden zie ik ze op straat rondslenterenp dan weêr: ‘Jan Eering gaat weêr naar zijn meisje toe; ’t schijnt wel, want hij zet er nog al vaart achter; ik denk dat dat engagement wel uit zou zijn als hij wist hoe die Emma Vervliet eigenlijk bestaat; het is een schande zoo wereldsch als die meid leeft. Comedie, bal, en Zondags ter naauwernood in de kerk, dan om eens eene nieuwe japon of een nieuw hoedje te laten zien.» Zoo ging het nu zonder einde, nooit raakte ze uitgeput.

Zij was, toen ik haar leerde kennen ongeveer vijftig jaar; misschien iets jonger. Haar gelaat — hoe ’t vroeger was, viel moeijelijk meer te onderscheiden — had eene geele tint aangenomen, haar neus was vrij groot en slecht geëvenredigd met de andere deelen van haar aangezigt; hare oogen waren grijs en stonden min of meer gluiperig; haar voorhoofd was laag en gerimpeld, en om haar mond, die nog maar van eenige half versletene, bruine tanden voorzien was, lag een trek van voortdurende ontevredenheid. Heel veel mooijer denk ik dat ze in haar jeugd ook niet geweest is; misschien waren hare tanden toen een beetje witter en hare kleur heeft er toen welligt iets meer menschelijk uitgezien. Van gestalte was ze nog al vrij lang, maar ze liep gebukt; haar hoofd scheen niet sterk genoeg om de massa’s valsche krullen te dragen, die het grijze haar moesten verbergen.

Hoewel dus reeds alle hoop op trouwen kon geacht worden vervlogen te zijn, wilde zij zich nog niet overtuigen, dat zj wel kans had om ook als oude vrijster te sterven; nog voortdurend leefde in haar de hoop eens een man te vinden, die haar hart en hand zou aanbieden; maar dertig jaren had zij die hope reeds gekoesterd en dertig jaren van teleurstelling waren waarlijk geene aanmoediging om daar zoo vast op te rekenen, als zij wel gedaan had.

Vooreerst had ze dan ook maar een hond genomen om op dezen hare volle genegenheid over te dragen; hij was haar lieveling, haar schat, haar alles. Voor dien hond zou niets haar te veel zijn. En waarlijk ’t was niet te verwonderen, dat zij

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hem zoo innig lief had, want hij was onder de honden, wat zij was onder de vrouwen: oud, leelijk, twistachtig, misschie was hij ook wel kwaadsprekend; maar ’t arme dier kon zijne gedachten niet regt duidelijk aan ‘t verstand brengen.

’t Beest was de schaduw der meesteres , haar liefste pop. Dronk de vrouw thee, dan nuttigde de stumpert room; at zij een boterham , dan kreeg het arme dier een beschuitje; kluifde zij aan een beentje, dan geneerde de stakker zich met een stukje vleesch; och, en hij gebruikte zoo weinig en hij werd zoo mager, dat hij meer op een ton dan op een hond begon te gelijken. Daarbij was Karo vlug, slim, geleerd, net zoo als vertroetelde kindertjes bij zoetsappige ouders; kortom, al was hij maar een hond, hij had een leven als een prins.

Verder had ze nog een huisgenoot, namelijk de meid. Die mogt nooit bevallen, want waar anders was het wezen waaraan ze haar toorn koelen kon? Kookte ze goed en waschte ze goed, dan hield ze te veel van de jongens, en meiden die vrijden kon ze niet verdragen. Durfde ’t meisje tegenspreken, dan klaagde ze: ‘dat de meiden zoo brutaal waren als koetspaarden en zoo lui dat het een schande was; en ordinair volgde dan weêr eene geheele jeremiade over de meiden en verdere dienstbare personen.

Ziedaar nu zoo een en ander van haar bestaan u medegedeeld; maar hoe toch kwam ze aan zoo’n humeur? vraagt gij misschien: een weinig geduld slechts. Voor ongeveer vijftig jaren, iets meer of iets minder leefde er op diezelfde plaats een man, wiens naam was Redal. Deze nu zocht zich eene vrouw onder de Evatjes en gewon zonen en dochteren.

De laatsten waren nog al bijzonder mooi uitgevallen, eentje uitgezonderd, wier naam was Rosa. Moeder natuur scheen met dien naam den spot te drijven, want nooit had ze eene roode kleur bezeten, ze was geel van haar geboorte af aan, en daar waar men bij anderen roode koontjes vindt, vond men bij haar wel bruine. Rosa nu groeide op tot dat ze ongeveer den leeftijd van twee- à drie-en-twintig jaar bereikt had en was toen, volgens de getuigenis van al bare mannelijke en vrouwelijke kennissen, leelijk. De‘eene zuster trouwde voor, de andere na en zij bleef zitten; alleen, zonder minnaar. Zij, de oudste van vijf zusters, de eerstgeborene zou kinderloos overlijden, terwijl allen die jonger waren dan zij, zich door een bevallig kroost omgeven zagen! O, hoe dikwerf wenschte ze terug naar dien tijd, wanneer Laban zegt: ‘Men doet alzoo niet te dezer onzer plaatse, dat men de kleinste uitgeeft voor de eerstgeborene.» Maar ijdel waren hare wenschen, ijdel waren hare droomen, ijdel was hare hoop; jaren waren uit de maanden ontstaan, jaren voegden zich bij reeds vervlogene jaren, en niemand kwam opdagen om haar hart en hand te bieden: zij bleef alleen. Zoo telde ze dan nu reeds bijna vijftig jaren en nog had die tijd van teleurstelling hare hoop niet geheel vernietigd; nog had zij niet geleerd zich in haar lot te schikken; nog altijd droomde zj van huwelijksgeluk te smaken; ja, wanneer?

Ziedaar de oorzaak, waarom jufvrouw Redal altijd zoo brommerig is; waarom ze altijd op geëngageerden hare giftige pijlen afschiet; waarom ze geene meiden kan velen-, die vrijen; waarom ze altijd zoo kwaad spreekt. Daaraan is nu geen genezen meer, dat zal wel duren tot haar zalig einde. En wanneer die ure slaat, zal men van haar zeggen: (geljk men van Simson eenmaal zeide, dat hij bij zijn einde grootere dingen deed dan gedurende zijn leven) dat zij bij haar dood meer goed deed dan gedurende geheel haar leven; dat zij namelijk weer rust en eendragt toe zal laten op de plaats, die zij door hare vurige tong zoo dikwerf beroerd heeft. En nog meer, hare wijze spaarzaamheid zal in zegening blijven bij neefjes en nichtjes; die ’t steeds lief van tante zullen vinden, dat ze voor hen menig stukje ter zijde leide, en dat ze zoo ter regter tjd het aardsche voor het eeuwige ging

verwisselen.

En nu, lieve meisjes, die dit leest, misschien zijn er onder u ook eenigen, die het lot te wachten staat als oude jonge jufvrouw te sterven, (want uit de statistieke opgaven der laatste jaren blijkt dat er steeds meer meisjes dan jongens geboren worden); ik bid u: spiegelt u aan het beeld van

jufvrouw Isegrim sive Redal; want die zich aan een ander spiegelt, spiegelt zich zacht. Begint toch om des lieven vredes wille niet reeds in uwen jeugdigen leeftijd met kwaadspreken, want waarlijk dat is een eerst, maar ook een zeker kenmerk dat gij als oude vrijster zult sterven. Maar er zijn nog meer gebreken, die u voeren tot dien ongelukkigsten aller toestanden, dien ik, men moge mij van bijgeloovigheid beschuldigen, hier niet wil verzwijgen; neemt toch nooit een hondje voor dat ge minstens vijf maal zeven jaartjes achter den rug hebt: de liefde voor dat beestje zou ligt alle andere liefde den toegang tot uw hart ontzeggen, en vermijd voornamelijk, die onbehagelijke cache-tout’s te dragen, want beiden zijn, jaren van ondervinding hebben het geleerd, onmiskenbare voorteekens uwer bestemming.

Maar wilt ge nog een raad van uw vriend Anonymus aanhooren en opvolgen, ziet, ik verkondig u dan binnen korten tijd het doel uwer wenschen, al wilt gij voor deze niet altijd uitkomen. Zijt dan in den volsten zin bloempjes, die wij op onzen levensweg zien bloeijen, die niet door kleur maar door geur trachten te behagen; weest lief, zachtzinnig en standvastig; wispelturigheid mishaagt; weet ons tot u te trekken door een teeder lonkje, zonder ons ooit te veel voet te geven, wanneer ge ons geene liefde toedraagt; zijt volstrekt niet te gemeenzaam; een weigerend antwoord, wanneer wij dan om uwe liefde vroegen zou ons eene beleediging, u tot schande en schade zijn. ‘t Is ook niet de kleur, die gezocht wordt, al moge zij ook een oogenblik behagen; hij die eenc levensgezellin zoekt ziet op het hart, want schoonheid is als eene bloeme des velds, nog ligter bezweken door den storm des levens, dan klatergoud voor ’t zachtste windje. Geen nood dat, al mogten uwe hoedanigheden verborgen blijven als de veldviooltjes onder de hage, gij op verderen leeftijd een steen des aanstoots zult zijn voor uwe medeburgers en burgeressen; geen mensch zal er aan denken u te minachten, maar veler eerbied, achting en liefde zal den weg vervrolijken, die u ten hemel voert.

29 Sept. 1856.

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Fijn uitgedachte wraak. — Toen zeker iemand zijn einde voelde naderen, vreesde‘zijne vrouw, die hem het leven tot een hel had gemaakt, dat hij haar niets méér zou nalaten dan de wet uitdrukkelijk gebood, of anders zulke testamentaire bepalingen zou maken, dat zij geen tweede huwelijk zou kunnen aangaan; want zij was nog jong en schoon, als was haar hart ook dat eener Xantippe gelijk. Maar haar man liet haar al zijn geld na, en dat wel op voorwaarde dat zij hertrouwen zou; ‘want,» zeide hij, ‘dan zal ik toch de voldoening smaken, dat iemand anders even ellendig zal worden als ik ben geweest.»

Z00 was de bedoeling niet. — Tijdens de behandeling eener zaak van mauslag, werd er door de partij van den beschuldigde alles in het werk gesteld om de Jury in zijn belang te stemmen; onder anderen werd het door een hunner beproefd, zijn jongste kind in de zaal te brengen, opdat het door zijne tranen de harten van de leden der Jury zou vermurwen. Dit geschiedde ook en het kind zette een keel op dat een ieder hooren en zien verging. Jammer maar dat een der leden dat huilen niet vertrouwde, en het jongsken vroeg: ‘Waarom huil je zoo?» waarop het weenend antwoord was: ‘Ach mijnheer, hij knijpt mij zoo! »

Misbruik der etymologie. — ‘Dentist, wat is dat?» ‘vroeg een kleine jongen, die reeds Latijn leerde, zijn vader. ‘ Als je maar op de etymologie dacht,» gaf deze ten antwoord, ‘zou je dat zelf kunnen nagaan? Dentz’st komt van dans, tand, van daar Dentist: een tanden- of kiezentrekker.» — ‘Dus is ook zeker Linguist, dat van Lingua (tong) wordt afgeleid, een tongentrekker, niet waar vader?»

Europe: collection of native and native letter fruits in …, Volume 45
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van Eester a beautiful mantille around; he also wants to walk a freer with violence, because at night and in despair I see them wandering around on the street then again: ‘Jan Eering goes back to his girl again; it seems, because he is still moving forward; I think that engagement would be out if he knew how that Emma Vervliet actually exists; it is a shame as worldly as that girl lives. Comedy, ball, and Sundays in the church, but then to show a new gown or a new hat. “So it was now without end, never was she exhausted.

She was about fifty years old when I met her; maybe a little younger. Her face – how it used to be, was difficult to distinguish – had assumed a yellow hue, her nose was rather large and badly matched with the other parts of her face; her eyes were gray and more or less sneaky; her forehead was low and wrinkled, and her mouth, which had been provided with only a few half-worn, brown teeth, was a trait of constant discontent. I think she did not get much nicer in her youth either; perhaps her teeth were a little whiter then, and her color may have looked slightly more human. She had been around for a long time, but she was stooped; her head did not seem strong enough to carry the masses of false curls,

So although all hope of marrying could be supposed to have vanished, she did not want to convince herself that she had a chance to die as an old lady ; still in her there was a constant hope of finding a man who would offer her heart and hand; but for thirty years she had already cherished that hope, and thirty years of disappointment were indeed no encouragement to count on it as surely as she had done.

First of all, she had only taken a dog to transfer to her full affection; he was her darling, her darling, her everything. Nothing would be too much for that dog. And indeed it was not surprising that she

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loved him so dearly, for he was among the dogs, which she was among the women: old, ugly, controversial, misery he was also evil-speaking; but the poor animal could not bring his thoughts straight to the senses.

The Beast was the shadow of the mistress, her sweetest doll. When the woman drank tea, the stumpy cream was consumed; when she ate a sandwich, the poor animal was given a biscuit; she tapped on one leg, then the wretch was embarrassed with a piece of meat; oh, and he used so little, and he became so thin that he began to look more like a ton than a dog. Karo was quick, smart, learned, just like pampered children with sugary parents; in short, though he was only a dog, he had a life like a prince.

She also had a roommate, namely the maid. Who would never like it, because where else was the creature from which she could cool her anger? She cooked well and washed well, she loved the boys too much, and she could not bear girls who made love. Dare to contradict the girl, then she complained: “that the girls were as brutal as coach-horses and so lazy that it was a disgrace; and then, in a simple manner, a whole jerusalemde followed over the girls and other servants.

Now such a thing of its existence has been communicated to you; but how did she come to such a mood? you may ask: a little patience. For about fifty years, a little more or a little less a man lived in the same place, whose name was Redal. She now sought for a woman among the Aholds and begat sons and daughters.

The last ones were still very beautiful, except one, whose name was Rosa. Mother nature seemed to scoff at that name, for she had never possessed a red color, she was yellow from her birth, and where people find red ones in others, they found brown in her. Rosa now grew up until she reached about the age of twenty-two to twenty-three years and was, according to the testimony of all kinds of male and female acquaintances, ugly. The ‘one sister married before, the other after and she remained seated; alone, without a lover. She, the eldest of five sisters, the firstborn would die childless, while all who were younger than she, were surrounded by a graceful offspring! Oh, how often she wished back to that time, when Laban says: “So do not do at this place, that they spend the least for the firstborn.” But vain were their desires, their dreams were vain, their hopes were vain ; years were born out of the months, years joined already years gone by, and no one showed up to offer her heart and hand: she remained alone. Thus she had already counted for almost fifty years, and yet the time of disappointment had not completely destroyed her hope; she had not yet learned to comply with her fate; she still dreamed of wedding happiness; Yes when?

That is the reason why Miss Redal is always so grumpy; why she always shoots their poisoned arrows on committed ones; why she can not do many girls, who make love; why she always speaks so badly. Now there is no cure anymore, that will take until her blessed end. And when that hour strikes, it will be said of her: (once it was said of Samson that he did greater things at his end than during his life) that she did more well during her death than during her whole life; that she will, in turn, allow rest and corpses in the place she has so often touched by her fiery tongue. And even more, her wise thrift will remain in blessing with nephews and nieces; who will always love Auntie, that she put many pieces aside for them,

change.

And now, dear little girls, reading this, perhaps there are some of you who are waiting for fate as an old young lady, (because statistics from recent years show that more and more girls are born than boys ); I pray you: you mirror the image of

Miss Isegrim sive Redal; for someone who mirrors to another is softly reflected. Do not begin to speak evil about your dear peace, even in your younger age, for indeed that is a first but also a certain characteristic that you will die as an old lover . But there are still more flaws which lead you to the most unfortunate of all the conditions which I, may I, accuse me of being superstitious, do not want to be silent here; never takes a dogbefore you have done at least five times seven years: the love for that little animal would be to deny all other love access to your heart, and especially avoid wearing those uncomfortable cache touts, because both are years of experience the learned, unmistakable signs of your destiny.

But if you want to hear and follow a counsel from your friend Anonymus, behold, I will announce to you in a short time the purpose of your wish, even if you do not always want this to happen. Then, in the fullest sense, flower flowers that we see blooming on our path of life, which do not seek to please by color but by smell; be gentle, gentle and steadfast; capriciousness displeases; we know how to draw you by a tender loch, without giving us too much foot, if you do not care for us; are not too coarse at all; a refusing answer, when we asked for your love then an insult would be a shame and a shame to you. It is not the color that is sought, even though it may please a moment; he who seeks a life companion looks upon his heart, for beauty is like a flower of the field, still fainted by the storm of life, then tinsel for the mildest wind. No need that, even though your qualities may remain hidden as the field violets under the hague, you will, at a later age, be a stumbling block to your fellow citizens and citizens; no man will think to despise you, but much reverence, respect and love will brighten the way that leads you to heaven.

Sept. 29. 1856.

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Finely thought out revenge. – then surely someone felt his end approaching, feared ” his wife, who had made his life a living hell, he would leave her nothing more than the law commanded expressly or otherwise make such testamentary provisions that they no second marriage could enter into; for she was still young and beautiful, as was her heart also that of a Xantippe alike. But her husband left her all his money, and that on condition that she remarried; “For,” he said, “then I will still be satisfied that someone else will become as miserable as I have been.”

Z00 was not the intention. – During the treatment of a mauslag, everything was done by the party of the accused to vote the Jury in his interest; among others it was tried by one of them to bring his youngest child into the hall, so that through his tears he might soften the hearts of the members of the Jury. This also happened and the child put down a throat that everyone heard and saw. It is unfortunate that one of the members did not trust that crying, and the boy asked: “Why are you crying?” To which the weeping answer was: “Ah, sir, he is pinching me like that! »

Abuse of etymology. “Dentist, what’s that?” Asked a little boy, who already learned Latin, his father. “If you thought about the etymology,” replied, “would you be able to verify that yourself? Dentz’st comes from dance, tooth, from there Dentist: a tooth or picker. “-” So is certainly Linguist, which is derived from Lingua (tongue), a tongue-puller, is it not true father? ”

Jonge-jufvrouwen
By Boudewijn (pseud. van J.L. van der Vliet.)
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aan den geregelden loop van zijne herinneringen begon te twijfelen. Zonderling toch; als wij jong zijn willen wij nog eenige jaren bij de ons reeds geschonkene voegen en zoodra wij een weinig

hooger den trap des ouderdoms zijn opgeklommen,

zouden wij zoo gaarne eenige jaren willen loochenen. «Raad eens‘?» zegt ge, als men u naar uw ouderdom vraagt. En daar ge met een angstig gelaat naar het antwoord wacht, kan men u niet meer verblijden, dan dat men u eenige jaren jonger houdt dan gij werkelijk zijt. Jonge menschen vreezen zulk eene uitspraak niet en daarom mogt men met zekerheid vermoeden, dat de Jufvrouw, van wie ik daar even sprak, niet meer zóó jong was als haar voorkomen liet vermoeden. Als hare toiletkamer klappen kon, wat had deze al verborgenheden aan het licht gebragt! Toeren en tanden en corchetten in voorraad! Pomade en reukwaters blanketsel en andere verjongings-middelen! Wie zou, met behulp van deze nog oud kunnen worden‘? Sommigen zeiden: zij is vijf-en-twintig jaren oud; anderen gaven haar dertig; weder anderen, die hun oordeel niet regtstreeks durfden uiten, zeiden: zij moet reeds oud worden; want zij heeft mij, toen ik nog maar een kind was, dikwerf op den arm gedragen; nog anderen hadden opgemerkt, dat zij, wat haar leeftijd betrof, altoos op dezelfde hoogte bleef, in één woord, iedereen verkeerde in een volslagen onkunde omtrent den ouderdom der schoone, die ik eens, bloeijende als in December eene Augustus-roos, zitten zag op een tuinbank digt bij een door de zon beschenen vijver. De tuin was vol gasten en een hunner, een melancholische Jonge-Heer met een nanking-geelen broek, een witte gesteven das en sluike zwarte haren, naderde de Jonge-Jufvrouw met den verdachten ouderdom. Na eenige pligtplegingen te hebben gewisseld, zette de sluike Jonge-Heer zich naast de Jonge-Jufvrouw neder en plukte voor haar een vergeet-mij-nietje, dat zij heel vriendelijk aannam. Onder het spreken deed zij haar best om haar mondje al kleiner en kleiner te maken en somwijlen had zij oogenblikken, waarin zij niet onaardig was en wel voor eene Jonge-Jufvrouw van drie-en-twintig jaren had kunnen doorgaan. De glans der zon had aan deze bloeijende oogenblikken een gewigtig aandeel en ik geloof daarenboven, dat het gesprek liep over de liefde. Te midden der herlevende droomen van de Jonge-Jufvrouw, kwam er een vervaarlijk groote hond achter haar aanrennen.

Arme J onge-Jufvrouw !

Ik heb gezegd dat zij bij een vijver zat. Zij zat nu tusschen een hond en een vijver. Zoodra zij het vreeslijk dier in den muil zag, scheen haar denkvermogen te vervliegen, want zij rende eensklaps voorwaarts en — in den vijver. De melan

cholische Jonge-Heer ging op den kant staan, sloeg met zijne armen heen en weêr, als een pop in de ronzebons, maar hij voerde eigenlijk niets uit. Intusschen spartelde de Jonge-Jufvrouw in den vijver en tusschenbeide zonk zij wel eens even. Doch terwijl er van alle kanten hulp kwam opdagen, sprong de hond in het water, pakte haar in den rug en sleepte haar, als een hoop oude kleèren, op het drooge. Het zonderlingste van de zaak was echter, dat niemand der omstanders de bewustelooze dame herkende. Haar toer was losgeraakt en weggespoeld, zoodat er eenige peperen zoutkleurige haren langs hare schouders hingen. Zij miste ook een paar voortanden; hare doodelijke bleekbeid was onder een vetachtig, vaal rood in elkander gevloeid smeersel verborgen. De vijver had’haar in één oogenblik wel twaalf jaren ouder gemaakt. Wie lag daar‘ ? Niemand wist het. Eintoch loste de melancholische Jonge-Heer, die met den toer kwam aanloopen, het raadsel op. «Het is de J onge-Jufvrouw !» riep hij en allen sloegen de handen van verbazing te zamen. «Is zij gehuwd ‘?» vroeg ik. — «Neen,» was het antwoord: «zij is eene oude vrijster!»

Waarom zou ik het dan ontkennen, dat het

‘eene moeijelijke taak is om een juist denkbeeld

te geven van eene oude vrijster‘ ? In verschillende vormen ontmoeten wij haar in de zamenleving en

nog oneindiger verschillen zij in neigingen en hartstogten. Indien mijne ziel het vermogen bezat om een tijdlang in het stoffelijk omkleedsel eener oude vrijster te vertoeven en dan weder tot mij weder te koeren om hare gewaarwordingen af te schilderen, dan welligt zou er eene schets geboren worden, die de meeste blijken van volkomenheid bezat. Maar wat klaag ik‘? In ééne van haar heeft immers mijn beeld gewoond‘? Lang, zeer lang heb ik gewoond in het hart van ééne, die thans hare rekening met de wereld reeds heeft gesloten en bemind heeft op een leeftijd, waarin het hart

‚ gezegd wordt te grijzen met de hairen.

Terwijl ik deze regelen schrijf, gedenk ik weder aan haar en aan den laten hartstogt, die haar blaakte, toen ieder waande, dat alle vuur reeds in haar was uitgedoofd. Levendig staat het mij weder voor den geest, gelijk ik haar het eerst zag, met dien onbeschrijfelijk teederen blik op mij geslagen en met de handen gevouwen, als tot een gebed — dat ik nimmer heb verhoord. Thans mag ik hare geschiedenis verhalen; want ik zal er haar niet meer mede beleedigen. Zij sluimert reeds in het stof der graven.

Arme DEBORA S*“lmijn hart verwijt mij dik

werf zeer veel; maar nimmer toch heeft het mij ‚

verweten, dat ik u slechts een weinig achting en geen liefde schonk. Arme DEBORA! De wereld heeft u dwaas genoemd, maar de Hemel weet het dat ik zelf innig medelijden met u gevoelde en in

stilte tranen om u weende, die zekerlijk uit een ander gevoel opwelden dan die, welke gij misschien om mij hebt geweend.

Ik schrijf deze regelen in een oord dat er mij onwillekeurig toe vervoert, om eenige jaren in mijn leven terug te treden en mij harer te herinneren. Het stille dorpje waarin ik thans eenige dagen vertoef, om, gelijk zoo dikwerf vroeger, van de bekommernissen des levens te verademen, is naauw verbonden aan eenige bladzijden uit de geschiedenis van mijn leven en het hare. Hoe dikwerf wandelde zij in die lange, lommerrijke kastanjelaan, daar ginds, voor mijn venster, met het kleine hondje, dat geen betere vriendin had dan zijne goede meesteresse. Hoe menigmaal zette zij zich neder , ginds op die zodenbank, om van hare eenzame wandeling uit te rusten. En hoe zacht rust zij thans uit aan het einde dier laan, op het stille dorpskerkhof, waar de tortels paren op het graf der oude vrijster, voor wie de bloem der liefde bloeide, maar nimmer vruchten droeg.

Welaan dan mijne verbeelding, laat mij nogmaals leven .in het verleden, toover mij nogmaals terug in een tijdperk mijns levens, waarin mijn hart wetenschap vergaarde van het raadselachtig gemoed der menschen.

Het was in ’18**, toen ik op een zomeravond in het dorp A** * was genoodigd op een klein avondbezoek. Ik was vrij jong en vrij onnoozel in

Young lady women
By Boudewijn (pseud of JL van der Vliet.)
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he began to doubt the regulated course of his memories. Somewhat nonetheless; When we are young, we want to add some years to the already given and as soon as we do a little

higher up the stairs of old age have ascended,

we would so gladly deny it for a few years. “Guess what?” You say when you ask for your age. And as you wait for the answer with an anxious face, you can no longer rejoice, than that you are kept a few years younger than you really are. Young men do not fear such a statement, and therefore it is certain that the Miss, of whom I spoke there, was no longer as young as her appearance suggested. If her toilet room could clap, what had this mystery brought to light! Turns and teeth and corks in stock! Pomade and smell water blankets and other rejuvenation resources! Who could become old with the help of this? Some said: she is twenty-five years old; others gave her thirty; others who did not dare express their judgment directly said: she must already grow old; for she, when I was only a child, often carried me on her arm; still others had remarked that, as far as her age was concerned, she always remained at the same level, in one word, everyone was in complete ignorance of the age of beautiful, which I once saw, blossoming as in December, an August rose, sitting on a garden bench near a sun-lit pond. The garden was full of guests and one of them, a melancholic Young Lord with a nanking-yellow pants, a white starched tie and slender black hair, approached the young lady with the suspicious old age. After exchanging some duties, the slender Young Lord sat down next to the Young Lady and plucked a forget-me-not for her, which she accepted very kindly. While she was speaking, she tried her best to make her mouth smaller and smaller, and sometimes she had moments when she was not unkind and could have gone on for a Young Juf woman of twenty-three years. The brightness of the sun had a substantial share of these flourishing moments, and I believe, moreover, that the conversation was about love. In the midst of the resurrecting dreams of the young lady, a huge dog came running after her.

Poor J un-Missy!

I said she was sitting by a pond. She was now between a dog and a pond. As soon as she saw the fearful animal in the mouth, her mind seemed to evaporate, for she ran forward suddenly and – in the pond. The melan

Chol- ley Young Lord stood on the side, slammed his arms and turned, like a doll in the ronzebons, but he did not really do anything. In the meantime, the young lady in the pond struggled in the pond, and between them she sank for a moment. But while help came from all sides, the dog jumped into the water, grabbed her and dragged her, like a lot of oldcoloring, on the dry. The most extraordinary thing about the matter, however, was that none of the bystanders recognized the unconscious lady. Her tour had loosened and washed away, so that some salt-colored hairs hung down her shoulders. She also missed a few front teeth; her deadly pale was hidden under a greasy, faded red in each other. The pond had made her twelve years older in a moment. Who was there? Nobody knew it. The melancholic Young Lord, who came running around with the tour, also solved the riddle. “It is the J unhappy woman!” He cried, and all struck the hands in amazement. “Is she married?” I asked. – “No,” was the answer: “she is an old lover!”

Why would I deny it, that it

‘A difficult task is a correct idea

to give an old lover ‘? In different forms we meet her in the society and

even more infinitely different in tendencies and heart movements . If my soul had the ability to dwell for a time in the material garment of an old lady , and then return to me again to paint her sensations, then perhaps a sketch would be born that had the most perceptions of perfection. But what do I complain about? After all, in one of her did my image live? For a long, very long time I have lived in the heart of one who has already closed and loved her account with the world at an age when the heart

Is said to be gray with the hairs.

As I write these lines, I remember her again, and the heartache that blazed her when everyone thought that all the fire had already been extinguished in her. Vividly it stands before me again, as I first saw it, with this indescribably glanced look at me and folded with hands, as for a prayer – which I have never heard. Now I can recover its history; for I will no longer insult her. She is already slumbering in the dust of the graves.

Poor DEBORA S * “lmy heart reproaches me greatly

recruit a lot; but never has it me,

accused that I only esteemed you a little and did not love. Poor DEBORA! The world has called you foolish, but Heaven knows that I myself felt and felt deeply sorry for you

silence tears around you, which certainly rose from a different feeling than that which you may have wept for me.

I write these rules in a place that involuntarily transports me, to return to my life for some years and to remind myself of it. The quiet village in which I now stay for a few days, to, as usual, breathe out of the concerns of life, is closely connected to a few pages from the history of my life and hers. How often did she walk in that long, leafy chestnut tree, over there, in front of my window, with the little dog that had no better friend than his good mistress. How often she sat down, down on that sod, to rest from her solitary walk. And how softly she now rests at the end of that avenue, in the quiet village cemetery, where the doves mate on the grave of the old lady,for whom the flower of love flourished, but never bore fruit.

Better than my imagination, let me live again. In the past, reassemble me once again in an age of my life, in which my heart gathered knowledge from the enigmatic mind of men.

It was in ’18 **, when on a summer evening I was invited to a small evening visit in the village of A ** *. I was pretty young and pretty stupid

De antwoorder (Google Books)

Er is, in den brief van onzen Vriend GB RR 1T,
eene bijzonderheid zijne Tantes betreffende, die ik
niet heb kunnen ontcijferen. De Hondjes, de Kat
ten, zelfs de Kanarievogeltjes, zijn alle, aan hun
hoofd, agterſte, of aan andere ligchaamsdeelen, met
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onderſcheidings teekenen opgeſierd, en dit geſchied,
in de waereld verkeerende, hier door de menſchen, van de Orthodoxie der oude Tantes overtuigen zou den. Wat was het goed, dat ik dit tusſchen beide zegge, dat er, ten tijde van Vader Noach, geen onderſcheidingstekens, ten minſten niet onder de
Beesten, gedragen werden, anders zou die goede vader wel een lintfabriek, in den Ark hebben ma
gen meêvoeren! -Maar het geen ik nu niet be grijpen kan is dit, dat het dragen van een lintje, aan den aars van Fidelletje, of Prinsje, een bewijs voor de Ortodoxie der oude Tantes zijn zoude. Dat de Tantes Orthodoxe zijn, wil ik, zonder eenig be wijs, gaarne gelooyen. Wat kunnen oude vrijsters, die veertig, vijftig, of meer jaren, druk ter kerk:
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om dat zommige bewoners van dezen kleenen Ark,
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gegaan, Collegies en oefeningen hebben bijgewoond, gelijk als ik van deze ongerepte maegden onderſtel,
ſchoon zij thands hiertoe niet meer in ſtaat zijn, want ik denk niet, dat Gerr 1T BAAs Ongodisten onder zijne Familie heeft, wat kunnen zulke oude Vrijsters,
zeg ik, anders dan Ortodox zijn? maar dat men dit
aan het gatje van hare Hondjes zou kunnen zien, is, mij onbegrijpelijk. Ik weet wel dat men, op zom mige plaatzen, aan de Kapjes der jonge en oude
Vrijsters, zien kan, welk een Leeraar zij volgen, en dus of zij al, of niet, Ortodox zijn : dat is te verſtaan,
als men het groot onderſcheid, dat er tusſchen het hoofd van het Meisje zelfs, en tusſchen de ſtaart van
haar hondje, plaats heeft, in aanmerking neemt. –
Maar hier valt mij iets in, zou GER R 1T ook de ſtaat kundige Ortodoxie zijner Tantes bedoelen? Dit zal waar zijn! Nu is mij de zaak volkomen duidelijk, en ſchoon men op de menſchen, met opzicht tot deze regtzinnigheid, niet volkomen aan kan, zal er toch •
denk ik, in dit geval, geene bedriegerij, onder de hondjes, of andere beesten, die verſierzels dragon, plaats hebben. Nu ik dit wete heb ik op nieuw bij
zondere hoogachting, voor die Dames, in weerwil ‘hunner Nieuwsgierigheid, doch hier van ben ik ook een voorſtander, anders zou ik mij niet als een ver dediger voor haar opwerpen. Nieuwsgierigheid, her haal ik nogmaal, heeft veel, zeer veel nuttigheid, ſchoon mij de mijnen wel eens is opgebroken als de Hond de worst –wat heeft die man toch ge daan vroeg ik, voor eenigen tijd, aan een hoop groot en kleen Canaillie die bezig waren met een fatzoen delijk man, op eene beestachtige wijze, te mishan
hond, was het andwoord, en oogenbliklijk werden Hi 3 de
delen. Het zelfde dat gij gedaan hebt, vervloekte
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de klappen en ſchoppen, tusſchen mij en den man,
op wien ik mij geïnformeerd had, verdeeld, en ſchoon
ik den ongelukkigen, hierdoor, wel eenige verlich
ting toebragt, beklaagde ik mij echter, op dien tijd,
mijne nieuwsgierigheid, terwijl ik in het geheel niet
kon ontdekken, dat de Schout van het dorp, aan wien
ik deze grap vertelde, want een grap was het toch
maar, eenige nieuwsgierigheid had, om te weeten
welke het van zijne Burgers waren, die mij dezen
dienst bewezen hadden. Ja wat zal men hier van
zeggen, elk is niet even nieuwsgierig. – Mag ik,
zonder nieuwsgierig te zijn, vroeg iemand mijner bekenden, aan een voornaam Man, vragen, hoe veel
u het laken van dien rok kost, dien gij daar aan hebt?
Och mijn Heer, antwoorde deze, ik ben nog in geen
zes jaren begerig om dit te weten. Deze Heer was
zeker niet van te groote nieuwsgierigheid te beſchul
digen. –

There is, in the letter from our Friend GB RR 1T,
a special feature of his Aunts concerning, that I
could not decipher. The dogs, the cat
even the Canary birds, are all, to them
head, agterste, or other parts of the body, with
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distinguished signs, and this is done,
in the world, convinced by the people here, of the Orthodoxy of the old Aunts. How good it is to say this between the two, that at the time of Father Noah there are no insignia, at least not among the
Beasts were worn, otherwise that good father would have a ribbon factory in the Ark, ma
bring along! -But I can not grasp it now, this is that wearing a ribbon, Fidelette’s ass, or Prince, would be a proof of the Ortodoxy of the old Aunts. That the Aunts are Orthodox, I would like to belittle, without any knowledge. What can old women, forty, fifty, or more years, busy in church:
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that some of the residents of this Ark,
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gone, Collegies and exercises have attended, as I have of these pristine mounts,
they are no longer able to do this, for I do not think that Gerr 1T has BAAs Ongodists among his Family, what can such old Vrijsters do,
Am I saying, other than being Ortodox? but that one does this
to see the hole of her dogs, is incomprehensible to me. I know that in the summer, at the Kapjes der jong and oude
You can see Freemasons, what a Teacher they are following, and thus whether they are already, or not, Ortodox: that is to be understood,
if one makes a big difference, that even between the head of the Girl, and between the tail of
her dog, place has, takes into account. –
But here something falls on me, would GER R 1T also mean the capable Ortodoxy of his Aunts? This will be true! Now the matter is completely clear to me, and although one can not fully accept people, with respect to this intelligibility, there will nevertheless be •
I think, in this case, no deceit, under the dogs, or other beasts, that ornament dragon, take place. Now that I know this I have to be new
without respect, for those Ladies, in spite of ‘their Curiosity, but I am also a proponent of this, otherwise I would not raise myself as a devotee for her. Curiosity, I get it again, has a lot, very much usefulness, clean me the mines is sometimes broken up as the Dog the sausage – what did that man do I ask, for some time, to a lot big and kleen Canaillie who busy with a fat-assured man, in a beastly manner, to mishan
dog, was the answer, and in a moment Hi 3 became the
share. The same thing that you did, cursed
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the blows and spades, between me and the man,
to whom I had informed, divided, and clean
I give the unfortunate, by this, some illumination
ting, I complained, at that time,
my curiosity, while I’m not at all
could discover, that the Schout of the village, to whom
I told this joke, because it was a joke anyway
but, had some curiosity to know
which it belonged to his citizens, which to me
service. Yes what will they do here
say, each is not as curious. – May I,
without being curious, someone asked my acquaintances, asked a distinguished man, ask, how much
You cost the sheet of that skirt that you have on it?
Oh my Lord, I answered this, I am still in none
six years greedy to know this. This Lord was
certainly not to mention too much curiosity
digen. –