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Peter stood at the window, his head now enveloped in smoke, and kept peering out at the porch from which Mrs. Dawson was moving the various articles pertaining to her bed, such as slats, posts, railings, mattress, pillows, sheets, and coverings. "She's as busy as a hoss's tail in fly-time," he observed. "Oh, Lawsy mercy!"
"Lawsy! he ain't what you'd call old no," said Aunt 'Mira. "Now, let me see; he married 'Cinda Stone when he warn't yit thirty. There was some talk of him an' 'Rill Scattergood bein' sweet on each other onc't; but that was twenty year ago, I do b'lieve. "Howsomever, if there was anythin' betwixt Hopewell and 'Rill, I reckon her mother broke up the match.
Carrie and the peddler had up an awful case they was going to get married, and open up a tin-shop at Carlton, but a man come along and said the peddler already had a wife or two to his credit, and the skunk changed his route. Lawsy me! how Carrie did take on! We heard her yelling like a knife was sticking in her clean to the sorgum-mill." "It's a lie!
You hung after her night and Day, even after she had been cautioned that you was fickle, an then when you got her whole soul an hart you deliberately left her an begun flyin around Liz Lithicum. I know yore sort. It is the runnin after a thing that amuses you, an as soon as you get it you turn agin it an spurn it under foot an laugh at it when it strugles in pain. Lawsy me.
Of course, you will come, too?" "Lawsy me! don't see how I kin!" stammered Washington White, who always wished to be considered very brave, but who was really as timid as a hare. "Yo' see, Massa Mark, I'spect I shall be right busy." "What will you be busy at?" demanded Jack.
"'In the spring," quoted Mr. Coulson, curling his mustache, "'a y that is, a man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love." "Lawsy, now!" exclaimed Mrs. Widdup; "ain't that right? Seems like it's in the air." "'In the spring," continued old Mr. Coulson, "'a livelier iris shines upon the burnished dove." "They do be lively, the Irish," sighed Mrs. Widdup pensively. "Mrs. Widdup," said Mr.
I'm as damp as I can be from dancing so much." "That's easy to account for," says I, "when you happen to know that you've got two million sweat-glands working all at once. If every one of your perspiratory ducts, which are a quarter of an inch long, was placed end to end, they would reach a distance of seven miles." "Lawsy!" says Mrs. Sampson.
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