“George is in town, Papa; and has gone to the Horse Guards, and will be back to dinner.”
The world is a looking-glass, and gives back to every man the reflection of his own face. Frown at it, and it will in turn look sourly upon you; laugh at it and with it, and it is a jolly kind companion
“Well, well; yours is quite yellow enough for us. Isn’t it, Emmy?”
You foolish creature! Who would take you, I should like to know, with your yellow face?”
“How dare you, sir, break it?” says Cuff; “you blundering little thief. You drank the shrub, and now yo
“O heavenly, heavenly flowers!
