Hatcher returned to his laboratory gloomily.
Petticoat Lane is in the midst of the "sweating" district, where most of the cheap clothing in London is made. Through windows and open doors I could see the pale faces of the garment-makers bent over their work. There is much furniture made in this region, also, I understand. Looking down into some of the cellars as I passed, I saw men working at the lathes. Down at the end of the street was a bar-room, which was doing a rushing business. The law in London is, as I understand, that travellers may be served at a public bar on Sunday, but not others. To be a traveller, a bona-fide traveller, you must have come from a distance of at least three miles. There were a great many travellers in Petticoat Lane on the Sunday morning that I was there.
And laughed as I leaned o’er the rocking side,
As no news had come to Grant from Rich-mond, he rode out to a line where he thought he could get news and on his way a note was put in his hands from Gen. Weit-zel. It said, “Rich-mond is ours. The foe left in great haste and have set fire to the town.”
“‘Look at the wonder of the century! Here is a real wounded cavalryman. Sonny, how in the world did you ever get that close to a bullet?’ and so on. I got off of that horse as soon as I could and never tried to play cavalry again during the war.”
All but one,——he answered;——she keeps a lock on that, and won’t show it. Ma’am Allen (the young rogue sticks to that name, in speaking of the gentleman with the diamond), Ma’am Allen tried to peek into it one day when she left it on the sideboard. “If you please,” says she,——’n’ took it from him, ’n’ gave him a look that made him curl up like a caterpillar on a hot shovel. I only wished he hadn’t, and had jest given her a little saas, for I’ve been takin’ boxin’-lessons, ’n’ I’ve got a new way of counterin’ I want to try on to somebody.
domestic calamities. The wife whom he loved had lost her mind, and was then in a private asylum. The only shifting of his burden that the stern Mr. Thorburn showed was, he had given up the charge which he had held for ten years, and where his happy married life had been spent, and had taken a very small and pitifully poor church in East Harrowby. His congregation was made up entirely of working people, to Mr. Thorburn's intense satisfaction. He had the spirit of an apostle, but he was handicapped by his temperament and by the traditions of his class. He could not be persistent, or aggressive, or personally solicitous about the highly educated, moral, and well-bred persons who made up his first congregation. He desired earnestly and even fiercely to wake them up to a spiritual life, but all of them, pastor as well as people, were too well bred for that sort of intimate discussion to be forced between them. He found, after some years' experience, that they were willing to let him look after their morals, but they proposed to look after their spiritual affairs themselves—which is one of the commonest and queerest developments of modern religious thought.
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