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Updated: June 26, 2025
It is sufficient for us to start in this direction by feigning, for instance, to confuse the person with the function he exercises. I will only quote a sentence spoken by a village mayor in one of About's novels: "The prefect, who has always shown us the same kindness, though he has been changed several times since 1847..." All these witticisms are constructed on the same model.
"He hain't skurcely been outer his haouse," said Obadiah Weeks. "I on'y see him onct. It was arter dark, an he wuz a slippin over't the store arter his tod." "I guess it muss be considabul like a funeral over't the store, nights," observed Abner, grinning. "Gosh I sh'd like ter peek in an see em a talkin on it over. Wal, turn about's fair play. They don' feel no wuss nor we did."
It may be imagined that the two friends did not pass a particularly pleasant evening; but after much cogitation About hit upon a possible means of relief; which, however, he kept to himself. About's youthful talent was as precocious as his matured abilities are brilliant, and he had at this time published a book.
All the articles the Times ever wrote on Italian affairs did not produce half the effect of About's pamphlet or Cavour's speeches. I am convinced that the influence of English newspapers in Italy is most limited.
Soon the line relaxed a little, and Maximus ran away from the hole as fast as he could, drawing the line after him. When the fish reached the hole it offered decided resistance to such treatment; and being influenced, apparently, by the well-known proverb, "Time about's fair play," it darted away in its turn, causing the Esquimau to give it line again very rapidly.
Dunbude's the dullest hole in England, and we want somebody here to brighten it up, sadly. Did you ever see such an ugly monstrosity before, anywhere? 'The country about's lovely, Ernest answered, 'but the house itself is certainly rather ugly. 'Ugly! It's hideous. And it's as dull as it's big, said Hilda vehemently. 'You can't think what a time we have of it here half the year!
The house to which Louise of Stolberg, now Louise d'Albany, or rather, as she signed herself at this time, Louise R., was conducted after her five days' wedding journey, has passed through several hands since belonging to the Sacchettis, the Muti Papazzurris, and now-a-days to the family of About's charming and unhappy Tolla Ferraldi.
Another writer whom I used to meet in Paris, at About's and at his own house, was André Theuriet, favorably known in America by his lovely little story of Gérard's Marriage. I had read that and other almost equally charming tales of its author, and felt a strong desire to see him.
More and worse of this hideous realism is to be found in About's books, such, for instance, as "Germaine"; but from which censure I like to exclude the rollicking fun of "Le Nez d'un Notaire." As to the recent realistic atrocities of Zola, and even of Tolstoi, a more rare sinner, if we exclude his disgusting drama of peasant life, I prefer to say little.
The close mouth, with its ugly set, would not have been recognized by any but lifelong friends. "And Nat's about's good as any boy," went on ma. "Boys is turr'ble hard to fetch up so they don't disgrace ye and send ye to the grave with gray head bowed in sorter, as the poet says. Nat ain't bad. He speaks sharp to his mother once in a while, but la what boy don't?
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