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Begbie, Harold, 1871-1929

"The Bed-Book of Happiness"


And his involuntary gymnastics remind me, as I pass on to that
"terrible thoroughbred" letter H (I have heard men speak of others who
ignored it in conversation as though they must be capable of any crime),
of a stout old lady in the manufacturing districts, whose husband had
been very successful in business, and had purchased a fine old country
residence from some dilapidated squire. She was complaining to a visitor
of the difficulty which she had in walking upon the polished floors.
"First I sluther," she said, "and then I hutch; and then I sluther, and
then I hutch; and the more I hutch the more I sluther."
Only one other specimen (for I must hurry on helter-skelter and
harum-scarum) from words beginning with H--to be, or cause others to be,
on the _hig_, that is, to go about, or cause others to go about, in a
fume, angrily excited, menacing revenge. "Betty," I asked one of my
parishioners, "why do you make these ill-natured, irritating speeches to
your next-door neighbour?" "Oh, bless yer," was the reply I received, "I
only said 'em just to set old Sally on the _hig_." She knew that not to
many was it given to hear resignedly the bitter word, that not to many
was given in its reality the resignation affected by another of my old
women, who (one of those wretched combinations of religion and rancour,
"who think they're pious when they're only bilious") accosted me with
the startling intelligence--"Oh, Mestur 'Ole, I've got another lift
towards 'eaven.


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