I am at this period, viz. in 1812, living in a cottage; and with a single female servant (honi soit qui mal y pense), who, amongst my neighbours, passes by the name of my housekeeper.

Passengers on the plane are a captive audience.

I do not relish crossing swords with Pike's hook.

Thackeray can present the most wicked vignettes of domestic insipidity — the ultragood Lady Jane Sheepshanks (need the name say more?) sitting in old Miss Crawley's drawing room singing “little songs and hymns” […]