Frontiersmen were never afraid of poetry. It was Big Business with its fear of femininity, it was the eunuchoid clergy capitulating to vulgar masculinity that made religion and art sissy things.

No, Trichy; I won't be Augusta's bridesmaid; I'll bide my time for bridesmaiding.

A change had taken place in the weather the preceding evening, and a keen north-east wind, whistling through the crevices of our bed-room windows all night long, had made us shiver in our beds […]

What an interesting study was a surgeon's deathbook! There we should find disasters recorded due to causes quite beyond the ken of all surgeons. In many instances, though the surgeon has done his very best, yet how untoward the result! He felt sure that what was true of his own deathbook was applicable to the deathbook of other surgeons.