On the 9th of April he sold the saddle--said he wasn't going to risk HIS life with any perishable saddle-girth that ever was made, over a rainy, miry
April road, while he could ride bareback and know and feel he was safe--always HAD despised to ride on a saddle, anyway.
It does good to no woman to be flattered by her superior, who cannot possibly intend to marry her; and it is madness in all women to let a secret love kindle within them, which, if unreturned and unknown, must devour the life that feeds it; and, if discovered and responded to, must lead, ignis-fatus-like, into miry
wilds whence there is no extrication.
To proceed, I must tell you the landing place on the other side was miry
and slippery, and the fisherman lost a great deal of time in going and coming; still he returned for another goat, and another, and another.
Faces, discolored by cold, were covered with a layer of mud, on which tears had made a furrow from the eyes to the beard, showing the thickness of that miry
FROM THE MIDDLE to the end of May, Captain Bonneville pursued a western course over vast undulating plains, destitute of tree or shrub, rendered miry
by occasional rain, and cut up by deep water-courses where they had to dig roads for their wagons down the soft crumbling banks and to throw bridges across the streams.
An unguided ramble into its recesses in bad weather is apt to engender dissatisfaction with its narrow, tortuous, and miry
It is but a glimpse of the world of fashion that we want on this same miry
Right across the lower part of the bog lay a miry
talk, they drew nigh to a very miry
slough, that was in the
Then, observing the prints of a horse's feet on the somewhat miry
road, she 'wondered whether it was a gentleman's horse,' and finally concluded it was, for the impressions were too small to have been made by a 'great clumsy cart-horse'; and then she
In the sky beyond the crest of a hill toward which I groped my way along precarious plank sidewalks and across miry
, unpaved streets I could see the faint glow of the city's lights, but behind me nothing was visible but a single window of Moxon's house.
November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh;* The short'ning winter-day is near a close; The miry
bests retreating frae the pleugh; The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose; The toil-worn Cotter Frae his labour goes, This night his weekly moil is at an end, Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend.