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Updated: September 24, 2025
The fields themselves, thus rendered fertile by the waste products of the city, are cultivated, and yield a rich harvest of vegetables and grains of every variety suitable to the climate. The visitor to this field sees only rich farms and market-gardens under ordinary process of cultivation.
It was in this way, as has been pointed out, that the possibilities of the novel were shown to be practically illimitable. Tragedy is not needed: and the most ordinary transactions, the most everyday characters, develop into an infinite series of comedies with which the novelist can amuse himself and his readers.
A tiny figure came down the grass-grown road leading a cow by a rope. If it had been a small boy and a small cow, a middle-sized boy and an ordinary cow, or a grown man and a big cow, she might not have noticed them; but it was the combination of an infinitesimal boy and a huge cow that attracted her attention.
Above all, who was he? for certainly he was no ordinary malefactor. Suddenly he turned on to his back, wincing with pain as he did so; he had been lying partly on his side. "I can't betray my friends, Sir Roland," he murmured, "but believe me when I say I am deeply grateful for your kindness to me.
"You should have made a good feast yesterday," says he, "for the tablecloth is no good any more. That is, it's no good that way; it's like any ordinary tablecloth." "Most tablecloths are," says the old woman. "But what are you dawdling about? Up you go and have a look at those turnips." The old man went climbing up the narrow twisting stairs.
What he saw was a one-story red cottage, needing paint, its green window shutters looking old and somewhat dilapidated, its yard, of ample size and dotted with trees and shrubbery, surrounded by a wooden fence in whose palings were occasional breaks and patches. It was a commonplace object in an ordinary winter scene, but he seemed to feel in it the deepest interest.
Here is no lighting up by laughter, astonishment, and happy coincidence, as in You Never Can Tell. The play is a pure tragedy about a permanent and quite plain human problem; the problem is as plain and permanent, the tragedy is as proud and pure, as in OEdipus or Macbeth. This play was presented in the ordinary way for public performance and was suddenly stopped by the Censor of Plays.
One old dame with a glowing face like an ocean sunset and a gown that for richness of color and vivid contrast would have made Joseph's coat of many colors appear very ordinary, remarked that she came out on the board walk to study types. But types of what?
'Tis rather that you love to hear me say it often, than that you doubt it; for I am no dissembler. I think 'twould break my heart sooner than make me shed a tear. 'Tis ordinary griefs that make me weep.
In such conditions the smallest brain was bound to expand, to take on qualities of judgment and temperateness which would never be developed in ordinary circumstances.
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