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Not long since there lived, in the city of Philadelphia, a young man of singular identity. His only parallel was the comedian who is compelled to take himself seriously and make the most of it, or a tart plum that concludes in a mellow prune. He was the affinity of two celebrated instances to the contrary.
Now, by the greatest good luck, considered Mistress Deborah, there chanced to be in her larder a haunch of venison roasted most noble; the ducklings and asparagus, too, cooked before church, needed but to be popped into the oven; and there was also an apple tart with cream.
Though Shubbaunee had crammed himself up to the throat before, he agreed to stand that test, and accordingly took a piece of tart; but his stomach rising against it, he was obliged to spit it out of his mouth. Yet he still pursued the lie, and pretended he had over-eaten himself the day before, and had not recovered his appetite.
I was allowed to scrape the crock that had held the pumpkin for the pies. So that's how I know as much as I do. I suppose, however, when all is said and done, that there is no pie that can quite come up to an apple-pie. You take nice, short crust that's been worked up with ice-water, and line the tin with it, and fill it heaping with sliced, tart apples not sauce.
The eunuch repaired to Buddir ad Deen's shop, and said, "Let me have one of your cream-tarts; one of our ladies wants to taste them." Buddir ad Deen chose one of the best, and gave it to the eunuch. Shubbaunee returned speedily to the tents, gave the tart to Noor ad Deen's widow, who, snatching it greedily, broke a piece off; but no sooner put it to her mouth, than she cried out and swooned away.
The next was a cold tart, with excellent warm honey, and that Spanish, running upon it. I eat little of the tart, but more of the honey; I tasted also the red pulse, and lupines, by the advice of Calvus, and several apples, of which I took away two in my handkerchief: for if I bring home nothing to my little she slave, I shall have snubs enough: this dame of mine puts me often in mind of her.
Bill of fare: broiled soles, half of a roast pig, a haricot of mutton, stewed oysters, a tart, pears, figs, with sherry and port wine, both good, and the port particularly so. I ate some pig, and could hardly resist the lady's importunities to eat more; though to my fancy it tasted of swill, had a flavor of the pigsty.
She does not always have the chance to act the woman written in her face, the tart, thinking, handsome creature that Ibsen prefers. Nigel Debrullier looks the buttoned-up Pastor Manders, even to caricature. But the crawling, bootlicking carpenter, Jacob Engstrand, is changed into a respectable, guileless man with an income. And his wife and daughter are helpless, conventional, upper-class rabbits.
To every girl they passed they yelled out, 'Oh, you little jam tart! and every old lady they addressed as 'Mar. The noisiest and the most vulgar of the four was the one with the concertina. "I followed them on to the pier, and then, hurrying past, waited for them under a gas-lamp. When the man with the concertina came into the light and I saw him clearly I started.
I ought to observe that some of my messmates were very severe upon the ship's boys after that circumstance, always giving them a kick or a cuff on the head whenever they could, telling them at the same time, "There's another tart for you, you whelp." I believe, if the boys had known what was in reserve for them, they would much rather have left the pastry alone.
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