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"The hours I spent wiv thee, dear 'eart, are-Stan' still, Ginger like a string of pearls ter me-ee ... Grrr, Nellie, stop kickin'!" The range of desolate hills in the background is flickering with gun-flashes and grumbling with drum-fire the Bosch evensong. Somebody's catching it in the neck to-night. A chestnut. Yep. Now if this was 1914, with that racket loose, we'd be standing to.
The hearty and pleasant task of expressing one's intense dislike of something one doesn't understand is much more poetically achieved by saying, in a general way "Grrr you swine!" than it is by laboured lines such as "the red fool-fury of the Seine." We all feel that there is more of the man in Browning here; more of Dr. Johnson or Cobbett.
I went to Coleman and told him that once-as he of course knew-I had re- fused his marriage with my daughter, but that now " " Grrr," said Mrs. Wainwright. " But that now-" continued the professor, " I retracted that refusal." " Mercy on us! " cried Mrs. Wainwright, throwing herself back in the chair. " Mercy on us! What fools men are!" " Now, wait a minute-" But Mrs.
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