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And Little John did according to his words, the basket hanging down behind him like a peddler's pack; then, giving his staff to one of the maids, and taking a basket upon either arm, he turned his face toward Tuxford Town and stepped forth merrily, a laughing maid on either side, and one walking ahead, carrying the staff.
In such situations there is inevitably something morbid, in the description of them something monotonous. When they occur in actual life, they are painful, not tragic; the representation of them in poetry is painful also." "The Tuxford waiter desponds exactly as you do." Sydney Smith to Jeffrey.
You who never looked a Frenchman in the face are pricked off for ninepence a day, and I, who have fought five stricken fields, can earn but fourpence." "It is in my mind, John of Tuxford, that you have looked in the face more pots of mead than Frenchmen," said the old bowyer. "I am swinking from dawn to night, while you are guzzling in an alestake. How now, youngster? Overbowed?
Bickerton, added to her own simple and quiet manners, so propitiated the landlady of the Swan in her favour, that the good dame procured her the convenient accommodation of a pillion and post-horse then returning to Tuxford, so that she accomplished, upon the second day after leaving York, the longest journey she had yet made.
Then they huddled together and nudged one another, and one presently spake up and said, "We are going to the Tuxford market, holy friar, to sell our eggs." "Now out upon it!" quoth Little John, looking upon them with his head on one side. "Surely, it is a pity that such fair lasses should be forced to carry eggs to market.
Her mother made no reply, but she made it so ostentatiously that to skip off to another subject would have been to accept a wager of battle. Gwen was prepared to be conciliatory. "Is anything coming off?" she asked irreverently. "Any Bishop or anything?" Her mother replied, with a Pacific Ocean of endurance in her voice: "Dr. Tuxford Somers is preaching at the Abbey.
He continues to despair of his country as hopelessly as the Tuxford waiter; finds Bournemouth "a very stupid place" which is distressing; it is a stupid place enough now, but it was not then: "a great moorland covered with furze and low pine coming down to the sea" could never be that and meets Miss Brontë, "past thirty and plain, with expressive grey eyes though." The rest we must imagine.
On the best lines of communication the ruts were deep, the descents precipitous, and the way often such as it was hardly possible to distinguish, in the dusk, from the unenclosed heath and fen which lay on both sides. Ralph Thorseby, the antiquary, was in danger of losing his way on the great North road, between Barnby Moor and Tuxford, and actually lost his way between Doncaster and York.
At the actual death of Dickens there was no reason for any one less hopelessly pessimist than Peacock's Mr. Toobad, or Sydney Smith's Tuxford waiter, to take a gloomy view of the future of the novel. Of the greater novelists mentioned in the last chapter Charlotte Brontë and Mrs.
Pitt, her eyes sparkling with fun, "when Robin and his men had been in hiding for some days or weeks, perhaps, because the old Sheriff of Nottingham was trying particularly hard to catch them at the time, some of the most venturesome ones, not being able to exist longer under the restraint, would start off in search of adventure; and leaving a bit reluctantly the heart of Sherwood Forest, they always made straight for the 'high road. Now in just such a place as this, by the cross-roads, Little John, garbed as a gray friar, met the three lasses who were carrying their eggs to the market at Tuxford.
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