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Ye may meet wi' rough customers on the Border, or in the Midland, afore ye get to Lunnon.
Why, they're stables four times as big as Squire Cass's, for he thought o' nothing but hosses and hunting, Cliff didn't a Lunnon tailor, some folks said, as had gone mad wi' cheating. For he couldn't ride; lor bless you! they said he'd got no more grip o' the hoss than if his legs had been cross-sticks: my grandfather heared old Squire Cass say so many and many a time.
'And I'm off to London i' t' morning, added he, a little wistfully, almost as if beseeching her to show or express some sorrow at a journey, the very destination of which showed that he would be absent for some time. 'To Lunnon! said she, with some surprise. 'Yo're niver thinking o' going to live theere, for sure!
But she's terr'ble famous, is Miss Bronte, now an her sisters too, pore young women. Yo should see t' visitors' book in th' church. Aw t' grand foak as iver wor. They cooms fro Lunnon a purpose, soom ov 'em, an they just takes a look roun t' place, an writes their names, an goos away.
Then that was a start as he himself had had his blessed eyes on, and he had cleaned the shoes they run away in and they was so little he couldn't get his hand into 'em. Master Harry Walmers' father, you see, he lived at the Elmses, down away by Shooter's Hill there, six or seven miles from Lunnon.
'Sell me a bunch? 'No, no, can't do that; we wants these yer for granmer. 'Well, get me a bunch presently, and I will give you twopence for it. 'I dunno. We sends the bunches we finds up to Aunt Polly in Lunnon, and they sends us back sixpence for every bunch. So the wild flowers go to Lunnon from all parts of the country, bushels and bushels of them.
But here we are, under the shadow of the departed Nine Elms and of the official palace of the Odos, deep enough in Lunnon to satisfy the proudest Cockney, in less time than we have taken in getting off that last commonplace on political economy. Adam Smith and Jefferson never undertook to meditate at thirty-five miles an hour.
Glass, the tobacconist, at the sign o' the Thistle, wha is so ceevil as to send you down your spleuchan-fu' anes a year; and as she must be well kend in Lunnon, I doubt not easily to find out where she lives." Being seduced into betraying our heroine's confidence thus far, we will stretch our communication a step beyond, and impart to the reader her letter to her lover. "Mr.
"It's just three-and-twenty years ago last Michaelmas. I remember it because of the hard frost two years before, that young Jim Hornby left Otley to go to Lunnon: just the place, I'm told, to give the finishing polish to such a miscreant as he seemed likely to be. He was just out of his time to old Hornby, his uncle, the grocer." "He that's left him such heaps of money?"
'It's a wonder t' me as those Lunnon folks can't see things clear, said Daniel, all in good faith.
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