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The Rais has a great dread of the Russians absorbing the Ottoman empire: it is not an unreasonable dread. 6th. My turjeman complains that neither he nor the people can pay their excessive taxes; they must all be soon ruined. Yet a couple of thousand pounds per annum is nothing for a commercial city like this.
Laborious days had gained him little. "Thirty seven years, more than half the life of man, are run out," he complains in 1773, "and I have my own and my children's fortunes to make."
The lament of the eugenist resounds in all countries alike. The German complains that the Poles, whom he considers an inferior race, breed like rabbits, while the gifted exponents of Kultur only breed like hares. The American is nervous about the numbers of the negro; he has more reason to be nervous about the fecundity of the Slav and South Italian immigrant.
"The tame one has become a widow, and goes about with an end of black worsted thread round her leg. She complains most lamentably, but it's all talk. But now tell me how you have fared, and how you caught him." And Gerda and Kay told their story. "Snipp-snapp-snurre-purre-basellurre!" said the robber girl.
And the king knows that Ebed-Tob has taken my city from my hand." The writer adds that "now Labai has taken Ebed-Tob and they have taken our cities." In his subsequent despatches to the home government Su-yardata complains that he is "alone," and asks that troops should be sent to him, saying that he is forwarding some almehs or maidens as a present along with his "dragoman."
He complains that the impression Colonel Goold had made seemed to occasion in them an unsteady conduct, so much so that notwithstanding their fair speeches, he at times thought that they would desert him after all. He was the more uneasy when informed by Israel Perley, on his return from Halifax, that the government of Nova Scotia had appointed so competent a man as Col.
The date of this doom is cast far back in the earliest dawn of time, and Jupiter has but just commenced his reign. While Vulcan binds him, Prometheus utters no sound it is Vulcan, the agent of his punishment, that alone complains. Nor is it till the dread task is done, and the ministers of Jupiter have retired, that "the god, unawed by the wrath of gods," bursts forth with his grand apostrophe
I doubt not his being very uneasy; but in his last he complains in high terms of my silence; not in the still small voice, or rather style of an humble lover, but in a style like that which would probably be used by a slighted protector. His letters and the copy of mine to him, shall soon attend you. Till when, I will give you the substance of what I wrote him yesterday.
To Cornelius he complains in fine Horatian measure of the contempt in which poetry was held; his fellow-monk orders him to let his pen, accustomed to writing poetry, rest. Consuming envy forces him to give up making verses. A horrid barbarism prevails, the country laughs at the laurel-bringing art of high-seated Apollo; the coarse peasant orders the learned poet to write verses.
"Luther's cause is considered odious," writes Erasmus to the Elector of Saxony, "because he has, at the same time, attacked the bellies of the monks and the bulls of the Pope." He complains that the zealous man had been attacked with roiling, but not with arguments. He foresees that the work will have a bloody and turbulent result, but imputes the principal blame to the clergy.
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