Skin-the-Goat, assuming he was he, evidently with an axe to grind, was airing his grievances in a forcible-feeble philippic anent the natural resources of Ireland or something of that sort which he described in his lengthy dissertation as the richest country bar none on the face of God's earth […]
There is a luxury in self-dispraise: / And inward self-disparagement affords / To meditative spleen a grateful feast.
At ten days old we began to give them Bartlett's pepsinated food with milk, and since that time to within a few days I have not attempted to replace it with anything else.
At the far end of the houses the head gardener stood waiting for his mistress, and he gave her strips of bass to tie up her nosegay. This she did slowly and laboriously, with knuckly old fingers that shook.
