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Updated: June 27, 2025
Peter's face flushed crimson, though where the blood could have come from was an anatomical mystery; he held up his hands with the fingers crooked like the claws of an animal, for the poor creature had no notion of striking; and, dancing backwards and forwards from one foot to the other, and grinning with set teeth in an agony of impotent rage, cried out: "Tam Crann, gin ye daur to say anither word against my Bauby wi' that foul mou' o' yours, I'll I'll I'll worry ye like a mad dog�ye ill-tongued scoonrel!"
Presently the voice of the preacher came to him in wafts, at the wind's will, as by the opening and shutting of a door; wild spasms of screaming, as of some undiscerned gigantic hill-bird stirred with inordinate passion, succeeded to intervals of silence; and Francie heard them with a critical ear. "Ay," he thought at last, "he'll do; he has the bit in his mou' fairly."
Browning sometimes yielded to this temptation to be a great deal too like himself. "Will I widen thee out till thou turnest From Margaret Minnikin mou' by God's grace, To Muckle-mouth Meg in good earnest." This sort of thing is not to be defended in Browning any more than in Swinburne.
Nay, put not on that scornful mou'. It sorts you not weel, my bairn. He is of degree befitting a Stewart, and even were he not, oh, sisters, sisters, better to wed with a leal loving soul in ane high peel-tower than to bear a broken heart to a throne! and she fell into a convulsive fit of choked and bitter weeping, which terrified her sisters.
"A bright, moving study of an unusually interesting period in the life of Napoleon, ... deliciously told; the characters are clearly, strongly, and very delicately modeled, and the touches of color most artistically done." N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. THE WATTER'S MOU'. By Bram Stoker. 16mo. Cloth, 75 cents.
"Ye see, mem, it's a pairt o' the edication o' the human individual, frae the time o' Adam and Eve doonwith, to learn to refuse the evil and chowse the guid. Noo, my pupil, here, mem, your son, has eaten that dirt and made that chice. It's three weeks, mem, sin ae drop o' whusky has passed his mou." "Whisky!" exclaimed the mother. "Alec! Is it possible?" "Mem, mem!
An' I'll never lat taste o' whusky intil my mou' nor smell o' whusky intil my nose, gin sae be 'at I can help it I sweir 't, O Lord. An' gin I binna raised up again Here his voice trembled and ceased, and silence endured for a short minute. Then he called his wife. 'Come here, Bell. Gie me a kiss, my bonny lass. I hae been an ill man to you. 'Na, na, Sandy.
He tried to turn her hert, sayin' wad she hae had him no help the puir thing ower the dyke, her bairnie bein' but a fortnicht auld, an' hersel' unco weak-like? but my leddy made a mou' as gien she was scunnert to hear sic things made mention o'. An' was she to stan' luikin' ower the hedge, an' him convoyin' a beggar wife an' her brat! An' syne to come to her ohn ever washen his han's!
An' syne she screwt up her mou', an' cam closs up till me for I wadna sit doon mysel', an' less wad I bid her, an' was sorry eneuch by this time 'at I had broucht her up the stair an' says she, layin' her han' upo' my airm wi' a clap, as gien her an' me was to be freen's upo' sic a gran' foondation o' dirt as that! says she, makin' a laich toot moot o' 't, 'He's Lord Lossie's! says she, an' maks a face 'at micht hae turnt a cat sick only by guid luck I had nae feelin's.
Awa' wi' ye, ye deil's buckie!" she continued, turning to Malcolm; "I ken mair aboot ye nor ye ken aboot yersel', an' deil hae't I ken o' guid to you or yours! But I s' gar ye lauch o' the wrang side o' your mou' yet, my man." Malcolm, who had seated himself on the threshold, only laughed and looked reference to his master.
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