in season and out of season
Female benevolence and female destitution could do nothing without him.
Who was the poet who said that Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do? If he had occupied my place in the family, and had seen Miss Rachel with her brush, and Mr. Franklin with his vehicle, he could have written nothing truer of either of them than that.
, “Here I am, sorely transmogrified, as you see, but there’s something of me left at the bottom of him still.”
At the age when we are all of us most apt to take our colouring, in the form of a reflection from the colouring of other people, he had been sent abroad, and had been passed on from one nation to another, before there was time for any one colouring more than another to settle itself on him firmly.
He had had a German education as well as a French. One of the two had been in undisturbed possession of him (as I supposed) up to this time. And now (as well as I could make out) the other was taking its place. It is one of my rules in life, never to notice what I don’t understand. I steered a middle course between the Objective side and the Subjective side. In plain English I stared hard, and said nothing.
It’s curious to note, when your mind’s anxious, how very far in the way of relief a very small joke will go.
It’s an ill bird, they say, that fouls its own nest.
