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Updated: May 1, 2025
"Well, yes, I do love her, and I'm not ashamed of it. Doctor," said the poor fellow after a while, "I see now I am not quite the person to advise my mother in this matter. I consent to leave it in your hands." And in pursuance of this resolution, he retired to his study. "There's a damnable combination," said Sampson drily. "Truth is sairtainly more wonderful than feckshin.
Then they don't look straight at Nature, but see with their ears, and repeat one another twelve deep. Now, listen me! there are the cracters for an 'ideaed feckshin' in Barkington, and I'd write it, too, only I haven't time." At this, Julia, forgetting her resolution, broke out, "Romantic characters in Barkington? Who? who?" "Who should they be, but my pashints?
She sighed, and Sampson generalised; he plunged from the seaside novel into the sea of fiction. He rechristened that joyous art Feckshin, and lashed its living professors. "You devour their three volumes greedily," said he, "but after your meal you feel as empty as a drum; there is no leading idea in 'um; now there always is in Moliere; and he comprehended the midicine of his age.
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