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For this end we should chuse an old Boar, for the older he is, the more horny will the Brawn be: We must provide for this use a Frank, as the Farmers call it, which must be built very strong to keep the Boar in.
Humphrey seemed to ruminate a short time. Then he put on a look of stupid wisdom. "Let us have breakfast now," he said. Hugo looked at him impatiently, and wondered how he could ever have found such favor with Lady De Aldithely. But in silence he took the brawn and oat-cake Humphrey gave him.
In costume they are not dissimilar to their enemies in rotundity they are superior, however, if not in brawn. Every other warrior holds his pipe between his teeth, and all brandish nondescript weapons, like their enemies, the Irish. And as the great crowd draws near, the crowning peculiarity of the pageant is revealed to wondering eyes.
SOUSE FOR BRAWN. Boil a quarter of a pint of wheat bran, a sprig of bay, and a sprig of rosemary, in two gallons of water for half an hour, adding four ounces of salt. Strain it, and let it cool. This will do for pig's feet and ears, as well as brawn. SOUSED STURGEONS. Draw and divide the fish down the back, and then into pieces.
Tender Brawn sliced thin, and laid Sallet-wise in a dish as the sliced Capon, and seasoned with Pepper, Salt and Vinegar and Oyl, with a little Limon, is a very good Sallet. It is a good Sallet, to slice a cold Capon thin; mingle with it some Sibbolds, Lettice, Rocket and Tarragon sliced small. Season all with Pepper, Salt, Vinegar and Oyl, and sliced Limon. A little Origanum doth well with it.
By the token of our patriotism and in sight of our willingness to yield all the blood or brawn or brain necessary for the advancement of our common country, we simply beg that you cast not away your ideals, that you do not unsettle the foundations of your democracy when you come to deal with us. "Grant unto us equality of citizenship. Fix your standard for a man!
Even as we were assembling or beginning to practice, keeping two or three light medicine balls going between each pair, our host entered that iron man, that mount of brawn. In his cowled dressing-gown he looked more like some great monk or fighting abbot of the medieval years than a trainer.
What brawn! what bone! what legs! what thighs! The third gipsy, who remained on horseback, looked more like a phantom than anything human. His complexion was the colour of pale dust, and of that same colour was all that pertained to him, hat and clothes. His boots were dusty, of course, and his very horse was of a dusty dun.
He must have lived long among fighting men. Perhaps that is why I think so kindly of him. I love a fighting man if he fights honourably with either brain or brawn, even more than I despise a coward." "And yet this Tavish, you say, is pursued by a great fear. Can he be so much of a fighting man, in the way you mean, and still live in terror of...." "What?"
When such thoughts came he went back to pure sensations, the great, bold peaks looming dark, the winding, level road-bed, the smoky desert-land, reflecting heat, the completed track and gangs of moving men like bright ants in the sunlight, and the exhaust of the engines, the old song, "Drill, ye terriers, drill!" the ring and crash and thud and scrape of labor, the whistle of the seeping sand on the wind, the feel of the heavy sledge that he could wield as a toy, the throb of pulse, the smell of dust and sweat, the sense of his being there, his action, his solidarity, his physical brawn once more manhood.
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