What's the matter, That this distemper'd messenger of wet, The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye?

Jenny hadn’t really noticed before that the girl’s face was so beautiful. There was something serene, madonnalike, about her.

Nor were the wool prospects much better. The pastoral industry, which had weathered the severe depression of the early forties by recourse to boiling down the sheep for their tallow, and was now firmly re-established as the staple industry of the colony, was threatened once more with eclipse.

He gave me a friendly slap on the back as a sign of camaraderie.