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Updated: June 3, 2025
"Queer my glims, if that be n't little Paul!" "Ay, Dummie, here I am! Not been long without being laid by the heels, you see! Life is short; we must make the best use of our time!" Upon this, Mr. "Vy, laus-a-me! if you be n't knocked o' the head! Your poll's as bloody as Murphy's face ven his throat's cut!"
There was a parrot in a corner of the dining-room, and, when prayers were over, Mrs. praised it very highly for having been so silent; it being Poll's habit, probably, to break in upon the sacred exercises with unseemly interjections and remarks.
Poll, said the eagle, 'how comes it, since you fare so sumptuously, that you are so lean and meagre, and seem scarcely able to exert that voice you thus make your boast of? 'Alas! replied the parrot, 'poor Poll's lady has kept her bed almost this week; the servants have all forgot to feed me; and I am almost starved. 'Pray observe, said the eagle, 'the folly of such pride!
John, who in the course of question and answer had got thus far into the marrow of the sweeper's narrative, "is not this good woman really your mother?" "Mother!" echoed Beck, with disdain; "no, I 'as a gritter mother nor she. Sint Poll's is my mother. But the h-old crittur tuk care on me." "I really don't understand you. St. Paul's is your mother? How?"
So successful has our Government been in carrying out the benign purposes for which its heroes staked their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor, that in ordinary times we see little of the strength that stands quietly but firmly behind every law's enactment and every poll's decision.
This is what he wrote: Upon my word, Poll's a funny bird. The children went around at recess saying this. They said some of Polly's speeches too. One day Miss West told the children a true story that was very, very sad. It was about a blind man who sold papers. He had owned a little dog that used to lead him to his work and watch him all day; but the little dog had died.
In a few minutes young Branghton, coming half-way down stairs, called out, "Lord, why don't you all come? why, here's Poll's things all about the room!" Mr. Branghton then went; and Madame Duval, who cannot bear to be excluded from whatever is going forward, was handed up stairs by M. Du Bois. I hesitated a few moments whether or not to join them; but, soon perceiving that Mr.
Poll evinced the greatest pleasure on meeting with this new companion. She crept close up to it, chattering in a low tone of voice, as if sympathising in its misfortune, scratching its head and neck with her bill at night, both nestling as closely as possible to each other, sometimes Poll's head being thrust amongst the plumage of the other.
Poll, was quite used to being thus trusted, and stepping majestically out, he perched himself on the shapely shoulder of the young girl, and picked the cracker from its dainty resting place. A few quiet moments ensued, disturbed only by the crunching noise of Poll's beak in the much relished biscuit, when suddenly Fifine gave a great exclamation of surprise, and darted off her seat.
Poll's identity not only on this occasion, but also during her hasty separation from Mary, was now established beyond the possibility of a doubt; a fact which lent to both her interviews a degree of mystery that confounded Harman.
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