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Updated: June 2, 2025
C. J. Barnett's Breda Muddler. Naturally in the case of a breed which has departed from its original type, discussions were frequent before a standard of perfection for the Irish Terrier was fixed. His size and weight, the length or shortness of his limbs, the carriage of his tail, the form of his skull and muzzle, the colour and texture of his coat were the subjects of controversy.
Once he wrote a chilling reply to those who dismissed him in this way: "I don't think it matters much, all this calling a man a muddler, a groper, etc.... The very man who throws such words as these knows in his heart that he is also facing a wall." This remark seems to me both dignified and strong, yet it must be admitted that there was some justice in the negative responses to his later work.
Decency died out when you exchanged the pick and facing-hammer for the glass and muddler. Decency! Pah! How you talk! As if it were any more decent to sell rum than to drink it." There was so much of biting contempt in the tones, as well as the words of the half-intoxicated man, that Slade, who had himself been drinking rather more freely than usual, was angered beyond self-control.
He has nobody to leave it to but us in fact, it is as much ours as his. Yet, he cripples us at every turn. I have almost to go down on my knees for my own allowance " "And, when you get it, dearest, I have to borrow half. I'm a wretched muddler. I used to think great things of myself once, but now well, they'd better make me bankrupt, and have done with it.
Daney, where the devil are you? Don't run away from me. You damned old muddler, if I get my hands on you I'll pick you apart yes, I will to see what makes you go. You did it, Yes, you did even if you're too stupidly honest to lie about it. Glad of that, though, Mr. Daney. Hate liars and interfering duffers. Ah the cold-blooded calculation of it took advantage of her poverty.
"Monsieur Doltaire, who is in prison here, and is to fare on to the Bastile, was insolent enough to send me message yesterday that I should keep you close in your dungeon. But I had had enough of Monsieur Doltaire; and indeed it was through me that the Grande Marquise had him called to durance. He was a muddler here. They must not interfere with me; I am not to be cajoled or crossed in my plans.
Muddler's splendid establishment, and were standing there when the tavern-keeper commenced a reply to the minister's last remarks. He had uttered but the first word or two, when he was interrupted by a pale, thinly-dressed female, who held a little girl by the hand. She came up before him and looked him steadily in the face for a moment or two. "Mr. Muddler, I believe," she said.
All his life he is the good man struggling against adversity. Nothing his way comes right. This does not seem to be his planet. Providence means well, but she does not understand farming. She is doing her best, he supposes; that she is a born muddler is not her fault.
Here vigorous epithets are bandied about, as, for instance, "absolute nonsense," "muddler," "foolish and senseless prattle," "idle talk," etc.; and from Dodel he copies the words with which the latter once sought to annihilate me: Job, verse 10, "Thou hast spoken like one of the foolish women." And he ventures to express indignation at Loofs' "invectives."
"You said yesterday that things were as bad as they could possibly be." "I did, sir." "Well, how are they now?" "Worse. Ever so much worse." "What do you mean, you jolly old muddler?" cried Denham, rousing up and looking brighter than he had been since he came under the doctor's hands. "What I say, sir," replied the Sergeant, staring. "Things are ever so much worse."
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