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Updated: June 26, 2025
And, finally, when that merciless scytheman cometh who makes hay of every man, and mows down your honour with the rest of them, I pray that the chariots of heaven may not keep your honour's soul awaiting, but that the horses of the other world may arrive speedily, and, with a great sound of trumpets, convey you to that great forecourt where Abraham, Isaac, and the other Jewish patriarchs, side by side with three and thirty red-breeched, heaven-ascended gipsy fiddlers, dance the Kálla duet in velvet pump-hose.
The season now lasts some three weeks, during which a family may earn anything from two to four pounds. At this season a few of the more experienced and trustworthy men my friend who mows, and digs graves, and runs errands is one of them do better in the hop-kilns at "drying" than in the gardens. Theirs is an anxious, a responsible, and almost a sleepless duty.
Hannah Ann and Henry had disappeared with the remains of the feast and the four were alone in the big solid structure, with hay mows on either side of their banqueting floor and a smell of dry, sweet herbage in the air. Bruce scanned the rushing yellow clouds. "Better shut the windows there, Miss Pat," he said. "I'll close the doors and then we'll hustle. It's going to be a stunner when it comes."
With which conclusion Mrs. Starling's 'help' finished his breakfast and went off. "There ain't the hay there had ought to be in the mows, neither," Mrs. Starling went on to her daughter. "I know there ain't; not by tons. And there's no sort o' a crop o' rye. I wish to mercy, Diana, you'd do somethin'." "Do what, mother?" Diana said gaily. "You mean, you wish Josiah would do something."
Thus since the perpetual possession is given to none, and one man's heir urges on another's, as wave impels wave, of what importance are houses, or granaries; or what the Lucanian pastures joined to the Calabrian; if Hades, inexorable to gold, mows down the great together with the small?
She mows down the ranks of the Trojans, and yet refuses all proffers of the Greeks. Thus early we have the direct, uncompromising spirit, a kind of feminine Prometheus. The first picture of the heroine is of a Minerva in full array, stony of gaze and of expression until she sees Achilles. Here early comes the conflict of two elemental passions.
His lands were wide, his cattle were many, his fields were vast stretches of green and gold; his granaries, his cribs and his mows, filled and emptied each year, brought riches and dignity and power to this man of the soil.
They plow with a plow that is a sharp, curved blade of iron, and it cuts into the earth full five inches. And this is not all. They cut their grain with a horrid machine that mows down whole fields in a day.
The conflict begins, a fierce conflict, the musketry rattles, and carries death into the ranks of both. Erect on his war-horse Bardissi leads the van. He fights his way through, his sword mows down the enemy like the scythe of death. Youssouf, his faithful kachef, rides beside him. Like Bardissi, he fights like a lion, and hews with his trusty sword a pathway through the enemy's ranks.
"Why, sir," said he, "we sows 'em, and we mows 'em, and we mows 'em, and we sows 'em." Mrs. Armour's lawn had the appearance of having undergone a like experience. At the back and sides of the house was a variety of shrubs and bushes whose blossoms in the spring made the place indescribably sweet. Mrs.
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