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John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear, "Though wedded we have been These twice ten tedious years, yet we No holiday have seen." -Cowper. No one could have much doubt how it had turned out, who looked, after fifteen years, into that room where Joe Brownlow and his mother had once sat tete-a-tete.
Now, for three months before February 1, Adamson had not seen Elizabeth Canning, nor had he heard her description of the room. He was riding, and could not carry a gallon pitcher in his coat pocket. He could not carry it in John Gilpin's fashion; and, whatever else was denied, it was admitted that from the first Elizabeth mentioned the pitcher. The statement of Mr.
His oyster-table stood at one end of the room, and oysters he ate at dinner and supper. He drank a glass or two of wine at his meals, put syrup of gilly-flower in his sack, and always had a tun-glass of small beer standing by him, which he often stirred about with rosemary. This is a portrait of one Henry Hastings, of Dorsetshire, in Gilpin's "Forest Scenery."
The hunting guard is no restraint at all unless the hat flies off, in which case it keeps it from following the example of John Gilpin's, but with the Henry Heath lining, your hat is perfectly secure in anything from a Texas Norther to a New England east wind.
Gilpin's translation of John Bunyan's Pilgrim into modern English? Who would lose, in the confusion of a Diatessaron, the peculiar charm which belongs to the narrative of the disciple whom Jesus loved?
There was something about the nose and mouth Miriam mused... frugal John Gilpin's wife how sleepy she was. The conversation was growing boisterous. She took courage to raise her head towards the range of girls opposite to her. Those quite near to her she could not scrutinise.
The city was too sunk in depression to be unruly. He crossed Chancery Lane and struck through the narrow courts which lay between Fleet Street and Holborn. His goal was Gilpin's in Fetter Lane, a quiet place much in favour with those of the long robe. The streets seemed curiously quiet. It was freezing hard and threatening snow, so he flung a fold of his cloak round his neck, muffling his ears.
Moreover, outside the sea-borne culture of the Mediterranean, pottery does not travel far: its uses are domestic, not commercial. John Gilpin's fate is typical of those who would carry things on horseback in bottles. Like words, however, potsherds enlighten us more about frontiers and contrasts than about uniformities. They are terribly provincial and tell their tale with a twang.
"Lucy Brown, Aunt Milly's granddaughter, put it there," she began, all eagerness to tell her news. "Aunt Milly, you know, was Mr. Gilpin's cook, and Lucy had come in from the country to stay with her a few days, when he was taken ill.
Indeed, it was a good Board, but the Chairman, though a shrewd far-seeing man, had, like John Gilpin's spouse, "a frugal mind," and Lord Pirrie's bold commercial spirit quite eclipsed his cautious ways.
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