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Updated: June 13, 2025
The whole world turned to remark the extreme gorgeousness of Mr. Boosey's attire, which was peculiar even in Paris. At first that ornament of society rather enjoyed it, but such universal attention became a little wearisome, and at length annoying. Finally Mr. Boosey could endure it no longer, and turning round he stopped Mr.
I believe there was nothing else injured except the bed-hangings in the back room, which were somehow badly burnt and very much torn in pulling down, and a few of our handsomest shades that were cracked by the heat, and a few plates, which it was hardly fair to expect wouldn't be broken, and the colored glass door in my escritoire, against which Flattie Podge fell as she was dancing with Gauche Boosey; but he may have been a little excited, you know, and she, poor girl, couldn't help tumbling, and as her head hit the glass, of course, it broke, and cut her head badly, so that the blood ran down and naturally spoiled her dress; and what little escritoire could stand against Flattie Podge?
Man ought to dance, but he ought to do something else, too. All genial gentlemen in all ages have danced. Who quarrels with dancing? Ask Mrs. Potiphar if I ever objected to it. But then, people must dance at their own risk. If Lucy Lamb, by dancing with young Boosey when he is tipsy, shows that she has no self-respect, how can I, coolly talking with Mrs.
Potiphar, inquired: "What colors suit the Indian summer best, Mrs. Potiphar?" "Well, a kind of misty color," said Boosey, laughingly, and emphasizing missed, as if he meant some pun upon the word. "Which conceals the outline of the landscape," interrupted Mrs. Gnu. "Cajoling you with a sense of warmth on the very edge of winter, eh?" asked the Sennaar minister.
Then came the vicar, following her from the drawing-room, and all three went on. Presently Short heard the front door open and Mr. Ambrose shouted to the fly. "Muggins! Muggins!" No one had ever been able to say why Abraham Boosey, the publican, had christened his henchman with an appellation so vulgar, to say the least of it so amazingly cacophonous.
Is there not the Louvre, where, if there is not the best picture of a single great artist, there are good specimens of all? Will you please to show me such a promenade as the Boulevards, such fetes as those of the Champ Elysees, such shops as those of the Passages, and the Palais Royal. Above all, will you indicate to such students of mankind as Mr. Boosey, Mr.
Goddard became a regular institution, and ceased to astonish the inhabitants. Mr. Thomas Reid, the sexton, was heard to remark from time to time that he "didn't hold with th'm newfangle fashins in dress;" but he was a regular old conservative, and most people agreed with Mr. Abraham Boosey of the Duke's Head, who had often been to London, and who said she did "look just A one, slap up, she did!"
Gnu looked rather angry still, although Gauche Boosey tried very hard to console her, saying as many bon mots as he could think of and you know how witty he is. He said at last; "Why is Mrs. Gnu like Rachel?" "Rachel who?" asked I. I'm sure it was an innocent question; but they all fell to laughing again, and Mr. Firkin positively cried with fun. "D'ye give it up?" asked Mr. Boosey.
The estate which belonged to it was unimportant and moreover was in Chancery and seemed likely to stay there, for reasons no one ever mentioned at Billingsfield, because no one knew anything about them. From time to time a legal looking personage drove up to the Duke's Head, which was kept by Mr. Abraham Boosey, who was also undertaker to the parish, and which was thought to be a very good inn.
Thomas Reid, the sexton, who remembered that the old squire died forty years ago come Michaelmas, and had been buried in a "wonderful heavy" coffin, Thomas Reid the stern censor of the vicar's sermons, a melancholic and sober man, so far lost his head over the news as to ask Mr. Ambrose's leave to ring the bells, Mr. Abraham Boosey having promised beer for the ringers.
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