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So 'ee goes on, and his woife doan't care about taking pains about a house when t' maister ain't never at home but to his meals, and his children get to look for him coming home drunk and smashing the things, and when he gets old he's just a broken-down drunkard, wi'out a penny saved, and nowt but the poorhouse before him.
Blue Peter at once obeyed the summons. "There's naething wrang, I houp, Ma'colm?" he said, as he closed the door behind him. "Maister Graham wad say," returned Malcolm, "naething ever was wrang but what ye did wrang yersel', or wadna pit richt whan ye had a chance. I ha'e him nae mair to gang till, Joseph, an' sae I'm come to you.
This league being made with the aduise of the same sage personages as well English as those that inhabited within east England, is set foorth in maister Lamberts booke of the old English lawes, in the end of those lawes or ordinances which were established by the same king Alured, as in the same booke ye may sée more at large.
But in your bonny southern speech, I daursay ye wad ca' him or her, I dinna ken whilk the cratur was ye wad ca' 't Ayriel?" "I don't know anything about him or her or it," said Lady Florimel. "Ye'll hae a' aboot him up i' the libbrary there though," said Malcolm. "The Tempest's the only ane o' Shakspere's plays 'at I hae read, but it's a gran' ane, as Maister Graham has empooered me to see."
"Maister," said he, "how long have we been here?" "Six days and more," said Hope. "Six days," said Grace, faintly, for her powers were now quite exhausted "and no signs of help, no hope of rescue." "Do not say so, Grace. Rescue in time is certain, and, therefore, while we live there is hope." "Ay," said Burnley, "for you tew but not for me.
'But, Geordie, I remonstrated, 'he doesn't know anything of the doctrines. I don't believe he could give us "The Chief End of Man." 'An' wha's tae blame for that? said Geordie, with fine indignation. 'An' maybe you remember the prood Pharisee and the puir wumman that cam' creepin' in ahint the Maister.
There's no a word o' the kin' i' the haill Bible, nor i' the hert o' man nor i' the hert o' the Maker, do I, i' the hert o' me, believe Cosmo, can YE believe 'at that wee bit foal o' an ass 'at carriet the maister o' 's, a' alang yon hill-road frae Bethany to Jerus'lem, cam to sic an ill hin 'er en' as to be forgotten by him he cairriet?
But he came, and laying his hand on my shoulder, looked at me with those earnest eyes of his. 'You've been very kind to me, Maister Campbell, he began, 'and it would be ill-done no to min' ye that ye are giving a sore heart to your best Friend ye have by takin' his dear name in vain, and then he said a little more about it. I was so taken aback, Grace, I could hardly believe my own ears.
They were a' squallin' an' crawlin' and sprawlin' amo' the couples to get out o' his grips. Ane o' them gat out an' tauld the maister about it, an' when he cam' down, the melted lead was runnin' aff the roof o' the house wi' the heat, sae, flingin' to the black thief a young bit kittlen o' the schule-mistress's, he sank through the floor wi' an awsome roar.
There happened to be a poor old white-haired weaver sitting in the house, an aged neighbour out of work, who had come in to chat with my friend a bit. My friend asked how he was getting on. "Yo mun speak up," said the woman of the house, "he's very deaf." "What age are yo, maister?" said I. "What?" "How old are yo?"
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