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Updated: May 3, 2025
This period, in the history of a country, may be likened to the hobbledehoy condition in ourselves, when we have lost the graces of childhood, without having attained the finished forms of men. Herman Mordaunt's settlement would have been thought a strong country, in one sense, for a field fight, had there been men enough to contend with a hostile party of any force.
He had acknowledged to himself, in some indistinct way, that he was no more than a hobbledehoy, awkward, silent, ungainly, with a face unfinished, as it were, or unripe. All this he knew, and knew also that there were Apollos in the world who would be only too ready to carry off Lily in their splendid cars.
A ragged hobbledehoy stood on the Vanderbilt grounds at Biltmore, mouth open but silent, watching a gardener at work. The latter, annoyed by the boy's vacuous stare, spoke up sharply: "What do you want?" Like a flash the lad retorted: "Oh, dad sent me down hyur to look at the place said if I liked it, he mought buy it for me."
I can't remember when I didn't look with eagerness for that crinkle in his eyes, even when I was a child and he what I at that time considered a most glorious grownup individual, though he must have been the most helpless hobbledehoy that ever existed. "You don't need another vine," I answered mutinously.
You may argue all night, and prove what you will; I'll stick to my words. Elfride looked silently and hopelessly out of the window with large heavy eyes and wet cheeks. 'I call it great temerity and long to call it audacity in Hewby, resumed her father. 'I never heard such a thing giving such a hobbledehoy native of this place such an introduction to me as he did.
And especially she harped on Lynn's friendship with Mark. She called him a hobbledehoy, said his mother was 'common', and that coming from a home like that, he would never amount to anything or have an education. He would always be common and loaferish, and it wouldn't make any difference if he did, he would never be cultured no matter how much education he had. He was not in her class.
Then we must consider that Wagner was not yet one-tenth fully grown, and it is the hobbledehoy who is so heavy on his feet, not the athlete with all his muscles completely trained: Wagner needed years of training before he gained the sure, light touch of Lohengrin and the Mastersingers.
Tommy, for some occult reason, had the courage to stare back into his grandmother's eyes, quite as if he were a man, and not a hobbledehoy, expecting to be bullied. "She does not want me," he answered. "And I knew she wouldn't. Why should she? I did what you ordered me to do, and she answered me as I knew she would.
Peter stood looking at the hobbledehoy without smiling. "Aren't you going to school?" he asked. Arkwright shrugged. "Aw, hell!" he said self-consciously. "We got marched down to the protracted meetin' while ago whole school did. My seat happened to be close to a window. When they all stood up to sing, I crawled out and skipped. Don't mention that, Siner." "I won't."
"The Hobbledehoy," translated into French as "Un Adolescent," is, on the whole, Dostoevski's worst novel, which is curious enough, coming at a time when he was doing some of his best work. He wrote this while his mind was busy with a great masterpiece, "The Karamazov Brothers," and in this book we get nothing but the lees. It is a novel of portentous length and utter vacuity.
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