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After a while they sat down and talked it over at length from beginning to end, and then back again, from end to beginning. Up in the Tigmores Crit Madeira's drills beat and bore at the heart of the earth, deeper, deeper; by the Redbud shack, the two men, on the ground, bore into Madeira's trickery, deeper, deeper.
I always love W., and sometimes admire Q. Still, that portrait is a fine one; and the extract from "The Shepherds' Hunting" places him in a starry height far above Quarles, If you wrote that review in "Crit.
I have collected a number of fine books. Crit. To gain glory by means of books you must not only possess them but know them; their lodging must be in your brain and not on the book-shelf. Pet. I keep a few beautiful books. Crit. Yes, you keep in irons a few prisoners, who, if they could escape and talk, would have you indicted for wrongful imprisonment.
I have an incalculable number of books. Crit. Have you more than Ptolemy, King of Egypt, accumulated in the library at Alexandria, which were all burned at one time? Perhaps there was an excuse for him in his royal wealth and his desire to benefit posterity. But what are we to say of the private citizens who have surpassed the luxury of kings?
Later on someone over in the crowd spoke. "Pity Mist' Crit Madeira aint here to see all this. Haow he woulda taken to it. That son-in-law of his woulda jes adzackly suited Mist' Crit. Pity he had to die off sudden-like jes whend ev'thing wuz comin' araoun'." It was a woman's voice and it was all softened with pity. "Yass, oh yass," said a man next her gingerly.
Docs., IX., 187. On the cost of such expeditions, see documents in Margry, I., 293-296; VI., 503-507. On the profits of the trade, see La Salle in 2 Penna. Hist. Colls., V., 427. Hist. Colls., XI., 67-8, 90; Narr. and Crit. Hist. In the governorship of Dongan of New York, as has been noted, the English were endeavoring to secure the trade of the Northwest.
"Looked like a Yank to me." "Uh-huh, betchew he lets his biscuits cool before he butters 'em." "Haven't heard Crit say he was looking for a stranger." "Reckon if you keep up with Crit's business, my friend, you'll have to walk faster." While the Grangers were wondering, supposing, reckoning, the man who probably let his biscuits cool before he buttered them entered the Bank of Canaan.
Pet. I have innumerable books. Crit. Yes, and innumerable errors of ignorant authors and of the copyists who corrupt all that they touch. Pet. I have a good provision of books. Crit. What does that matter, if your intellect cannot take them in? Do you remember the Roman Sabinus who plumed himself on the learning of his slaves?
In the mind, as in the body, indigestion does more harm than hunger; food and books alike must be used according to the constitution, and what is little enough for one is too much for another. Pet. But I have an immense quantity of books. Crit. Immense is that which has no measure, and without measure there is nothing convenient or decent in the affairs of men. Pet.
He was a man who had not believed in Crit Madeira, but it occurred to him that this was not the time or the place to recall that. The evening of that gala day was a glorious evening. Rich and warm and beautiful, self-indulgent nature had swaddled herself about in barbaric bands of colour, a drowsy opulence of green and scarlet, soft-toned amber and pale, veiled azure.
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