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We feel a sort of ownership in England. It's like finding your dearest aunt torturing the cat." "We must talk of that," said Sir Richmond. "I wish you would." "It is a cat and a dog and they have been very naughty animals. And poor Aunt Britannia almost deliberately lost her temper. But I admit she hits about in a very nasty fashion." "And favours the dog." "She does."
A lively Frenchman, in describing the distinct sorts of conversation of his literary friends, among whom was Dr. Franklin, energetically hits off that close observer and thinker, wary, even in society, by noting down "the silence of the celebrated Franklin." We learn from Cumberland that Lord Mansfield did not promote that conversation which gave him any pains to carry on.
If they try an assault to-night, you shall put on for the first time the steel cap and breastpiece I had made for you in England; there will be no danger of your being hit by crossbow bolt or arrow, but there may be splinters of stone flying when a missile hits the battlement.
"I'll go this nugget that the Yankee hits his man at the first fire," cried one fellow, holding up a lump of virgin gold as large as a hen's egg. "I'll take it I'll take it," a number of voices replied, and straight-way there was a rush towards him.
They were closer spaced, too, as they come nearer, an' I reckon there wasn't more'n fifty or sixty yards atween the last two or three bursts. An' we was still walkin' on, every man wi' his reins short an' feelin' 'is 'orse's mouth, an' his knees grippin' the saddle hard. "Bang!" one hits the road about one-fifty to two hundred yards short an' we heard chips o' it whizz an' hum past us.
As neither could injure the other in this sort of fight, and as they were willing to humor the populace, each was careless about his guard and reckless in his attack. Even so hits were infrequent, since each, even when most lax, had an instinctive guard superior to that of the most expert and cautious fencer among all other contemporary fighters.
When a northern clergyman marries a rich southern widow, country gossip thus hits off the indecency, "The cotton bags bought him." Sir Robert Walpole said, "Every man has his price, and whoever will pay it, can buy him," and John Randolph said, "The northern delegation is in the market; give me money enough, and I can buy them."
The men would take their dinners with them, consisting of a few barley balls or cakes, in their coat pockets, and at noon they would gather at one spot to enjoy their meal, and seat themselves on the ground in a very wide circle, the men about ten yards apart, then each one would produce his bannocks and start throwing, aiming at some other man's face; there were hits and misses and great excitement and hilarity for twenty or thirty minutes, after which the earth and gravel adhering to the balls would be wiped off, and they would set themselves to the hard task of masticating and swallowing the heavy stuff.
The hunter points it in a general way in the direction of the oncoming beast, pulls the trigger and hopes for the best. The paradox bullet hits with the force of a sledge hammer, and stuns everything within a quarter of a mile, and the hunter turns several back somersaults from the recoil and fades into bruised unconsciousness.
He was pitching all right until they broke his nerve by three hits in succession. After that he couldn't find the pan to save his life. If he'd been able to put the ball where he wished and steady down a little, he might have stopped that batting rally and had the satisfaction of pitching the game through to a successful finish. Now, Rod Grant gets all the glory."
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