时间：2020-02-29 20:38:37 作者：王俊凯 浏览量：75959
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“Miss Charlotte bleege to laf, an’ old Marster he spoke up an’ say, ‘Let ’im erlone, Charlotte. Can’t you see de ole fool has got it? Go on, you ole idjut,’ he sed to me, ‘an’ marry sumbody an’ git back heah termorrer wid enuf sense in yo’ haid to run er straight furrer fer de fall plowin’.’ An’ wid dat I lit out.
the same," Arthur tried, by way of making a beginning.
Two terrible calamities fell upon Ireland—famine and pestilence; and by these two dread ministers of God’s great purposes, the Irish race were uprooted and driven forth to fulfil their appointed destiny. A million of our people emigrated; a million of our people died under these judgments of God. Seventeen millions worth of property passed from time-honoured names into the hands of strangers. The echoes of the old tongue—call it Pelasgian, Phœnician, Celtic, Irish, what you will, still the oldest in Europe, is dying out at last along the stony plains of Mayo and the wild sea-cliffs of the storm-rent western shore. Scarcely a million and a half are left of people too old to emigrate, amidst roofless cabins and ruined villages, who speak that language now. Exile, confiscation, or death, was the final fate written on the page of history for the much-enduring children of Ireland. One day they may reassert themselves in the new world, or in other lands. Australia, with its skies of beauty and its pavement of gold, may be given to them as America to the Saxon, but how low must a nation have fallen at home when even famine and plague come to be welcomed as the levers of progression and social elevation. Some wise purpose of God’s providence lies, no doubt, at the reverse side, but we have not yet turned the leaf.
Presently we noticed a soldier clambering hastily over an adjoining fence, and in a few minutes he had come up with us, his face all screwed up in an expression of alarmed surprise.
But, either late that night or late the following night, we found music in which we could both take keen pleasure. Herbert Hughes played us some of his songs, and I remember Samuel Langford, breathing rather heavily behind me, becoming more and more enthusiastic as the night wore on. Williams, to whom also the songs were new, took a vivid interest in them.
"Hang!" he exclaimed, rising to his feet. "I'll go, and take the consequences."
“Well, he never cussed me all the time I was there. My stock went up with the old man an’ my chances was good to get the gal, if I hadn’t made a fool hoss-trade; for with old man Galloway a good hoss-trade covered all the multitude of sins in a man that charity now does in religion. In them days a man might have all the learnin’ and virtues an’ graces, but if he c’u’dn’t trade hosses he was tinklin’ brass an’ soundin’ cymbal in that community.
1."I was coming to you, doctor, this afternoon. I have just settled to take Mr. Creswell away for a few weeks, but of course I wanted you to see him before he went. And now you have seen him?"
Coventry felt certain that the tiger was about, but except for the angry scoldings of the monkeys, and the nervous lowing of the calf, there was nothing to denote the close vicinity of any beast of prey. Time stole on and darkness fell. If the tiger chose to come between the setting of the sun and the rising of the moon there would be little hope of bagging him. The sportsmen had agreed that if he should delay they would wait until the moonlight gave a better chance, or even till the dawn.
I heard, while I was in Sicily, of the case of a woman who, after her husband had been sent to prison, supported herself from the milk she obtained from a herd of goats, which she pastured on the steep slopes of the mountains. Her earnings amounted to not more than 12 to 14 cents a day, and, as this was not sufficient for bread for herself and her four children, she picked up during the day all sorts of green stuff that she found growing upon the rocks, and carried it home in her apron at night to fill the hungry mouths that were awaiting her return. Persons who have had an opportunity to carefully study the condition of this country say it is incredible what sort of things these poor people in the interior of Sicily will put into their stomachs.
“I am told that Lucas Malet’s publishers believe in the book,” he said, after a longish pause, “and are prepared to spend a small fortune in pushing it. And that, of course, means that it will interfere with, and perhaps seriously injure, the sales of my own story. But it seems to me that the public—the real public—will never read a novel that has for its chief attraction a man with no legs.”