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The daughter commenced her new course of education by being taught to laugh at her mother's prejudices. Such was the state of affairs when Vivian commenced his observations; and all this secret history he learnt by scraps, and hints, and inuendoes, from very particular friends of both parties friends who were not troubled with any of Mr. Russell's scruples or discretion.
Presently the last flush faded, and one large planet, splendid and solitary, like the first poet of a dark century, emerged from the deepening gray. My companions were in high spirits. They jested; they laughed; they hummed scraps of songs; they had a greeting for every boat that passed.
"Call yourself a woman!" he cried. "I'm all right," answered the girl, seating herself critically on a mound, the pony in one hand, the dog in the other. "Don't hit him over the heart," she advised out of some experience of race-course scraps. "There might be trouble." "I sha'n't hit him at all," replied the young man. He seized the fat man by the shoulder and spun him round.
He pities the little knowledge of truth which those have that have not seen the world abroad, forgetting that at the same time he tells us how little credit is to be given to his own relations and those of others that speak and write of their travels. He has worn his own language to rags, and patched it up with scraps and ends of foreign.
I have permission to carry the scraps over from the Court meals to my poor sick mother, and when I am going home at night, tired and weary, and rest for a little in the wood, then I hear the Nightingale singing! It brings tears to my eyes, and I feel as if my mother were kissing me!
I believe I have in April or May an annual poetic conatus rather than afflatus, experimenting to the length of thirty lines or so, if I may judge from the dates of the rhythmical scraps I detect among my MSS. I look upon this incontinence as merely the redundancy of a susceptibility to poetry which makes all the bards my daily treasures, and I can well run the risk of being ridiculous once a year for the benefit of happy reading all the other days.
The Marquis arose presently and went to a tree near by to examine some strips of rawhide he was seasoning for making a lariat. Just as he left a little puff of wind blew some scraps of tobacco from a cigarette that Dry-Creek Smithers was rolling, into Miss Sally's eyes.
From his rags he produced a rude diary blocked off on scraps of paper, a minute record of the river and the weather, covering many years. "Torrent, torrent, torrent." That word was repeated many tunes. Hause appeared often, signifying that the brook had risen. Every day he had noted its state. The river had become his god.
She is the more to be propitiated, as yesterday, in Presence of a certain person whom your verses had greatly irritated, she took up your defence with as much grace as generosity. You see, sir, that you ought not to be on bad terms with her. "My uncle allows me to see, as one of the initiated, what you call your scraps, which are delicious feasts to us.
These leading articles of the Hamburger Nachrichten, the sermons of German pastors, and those amazing manifestoes of German professors, flying straight in the face of historic documents "scraps of paper" which are there, none the less, to all time for us, these things are only not comic because, to the spiritual eye, they are written in blood.
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