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A certain quantity of gall mingled with the blood in Pierre Petit-Claud's veins; his father was a tailor in L'Houmeau, and his schoolfellows had looked down upon him. His complexion was of the muddy and unwholesome kind which tells a tale of bad health, late hours and penury, and almost always of a bad disposition.

Most persons prefer cabbage boiled with ham; the pot should be well skimmed before it goes in or the grease will penetrate the cabbage, and make it unwholesome; take it up before it boils to pieces. It is very good boiled with corned beef or pork, or with milk and water, with a little salt added.

It was a low, marshy, and unwholesome spot; and although a village was not many miles ahead, yet they were unable to walk to it.

The consideration shown him originated in the conviction on the part of the deputy-warden, that the young man must die if left in his wounded state in that unwholesome vault, and so the removal took place, in spite of the objections raised to it by Sir Giles Mompesson, who would have willingly let him perish.

There is a knowledge with which love has nothing to do, and it is a knowledge that for many people is quite sufficient. 'Knowledge puffeth up, says the Apostle; into an unwholesome bubble of self-complacency that will one day be pricked and disappear, but 'love buildeth up' a steadfast, slowly-rising, solid fabric.

It gives a hideous courage to what would be mere slaughter otherwise; for there it is, a presence always about her, darkly menacing him with that penalty whose murky secret has a fascination for all secret and unwholesome thoughts.

Such waste of strength, time and accumulated capital would be cried out upon as wretched mismanagement were the scheme of human devising. The best way to avoid growing old is not to be afraid of getting along in years. To come down to "hard pan" whence originates this unwholesome dread of ripeness and maturity?

To Bernard Barton he again wrote: "I assure you, NO work is worse than overwork; the mind preys on itself the most unwholesome of food. I have ceased to care for almost anything.... Never did the waters of heaven pour down upon a forlorner head. What I can do, and overdo, is to walk. I am a sanguinary murderer of time. But the oracle is silent."

Thank Heaven, that double despotism is wounded to death. As Chesterfield predicted, before the first muttering of the thunders of '89, "the trades of king and priest have lost half their value." With the decay of this unrighteous power, the false, unwholesome activity it fostered has also disappeared.

Through the opening at the gorge of this ravine they enjoyed a peep at the distant waters of the lake which terminated the vista, while they were quite removed from its unwholesome vapours.