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Updated: June 3, 2025
It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle. More's the pity. I never came across but two of you who could value a man wholly and solely for what was in him who thought themselves verily and indeed of the same flesh and blood as John Jones the attorney's clerk, and Bill Smith the costermonger, and could act as if they thought so. Poor old Benjy!
She washed them, too, there before them all; for it was Shenac Dhu's new china Christie More's beautiful wedding present that had been spread in honour of the occasion, and it was not to be thought of that they should be carried into the kitchen to be washed like common dishes.
They must all have been lost in the torrents that poured down those mountains." "More's the pity," said Captain Arms. "That was a fine lot of women. There'll be no more cheese like what they made at Tresvido." Cosmo inquired if the captain's acquaintance with the topography of the range enabled him to say how high that water was.
"This is no work for a gentleman." "If fight you must, run a course against each other with blunted spears, since they won't grant us sharp ones, more's the pity." "The youngster should learn to govern his temper." "Nay, he did not begin it." The last speaker was Hubert. Martin had walked away into the wood, as if he neither expected nor asked justice from his companions, and Hubert followed him.
The New Learning, growing up in the place of war and theology, meant the dawn of material prosperity, of the rule of law, and of a new intelligence diffused through the opinions and industries of men. Of this there is no better exposition than Sir Thomas More's "Utopia." More was a devout Catholic.
So it was high noon, and the schooner was under way, before I set my foot on shore at Falesá. I had a glass or two on board; I was just off a long cruise, and the ground heaved under me like a ship's deck. The world was like all new painted; my foot went along to music; Falesá might have been Fiddler's Green, if there is such a place, and more's the pity if there isn't!
"I passed the night with him," said I. "He is a fowl of the night," said she. "There was a set of pipes there," I went on, "so you may judge if the time passed." "You should be no enemy, at all events," said she. "That was his brother there a moment since, with the red soldiers round him. It is him that I call father." "Is it so?" cried I. "Are you a daughter of James More's?"
"Of course my idea was for them to wait till I was gone," she said at length. "Just so," replied the other, "and more's the pity." "But Elizabeth's getting on and I don't seem to go," continued the old lady, as though mildly surprised at Providence for its unaccountable delay; "and there's Fred, he ain't getting younger." Captain Barber puffed at his pipe. "None of us are," he said profoundly.
Thus did the practical settlers attempt to carry out one of Sir Thomas More's Utopian notions. Upon the whole, I think I should rather have a Nipmuck squaw cooking in my kitchen, or a Pequot warrior digging in my garden, than to have a white burglar or ruffian in either situation.
"He's a forfeited rebel, the more's the pity," said I, "for the man's my friend. I can only wish he had been better guided. And an accused murderer, that he is too, for his misfortune; but wrongfully accused." "I hear you say so," said Stewart. "More than you are to hear me say so, before long," said I. "Alan Breck is innocent, and so is James." "Oh!" says he, "the two cases hang together.
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