The devil was in the parsons, he said: in his time they were modest creatures and stuck to the bottle and heaven.

My aunt was of the opinion of our neighbours, who sent their boys to school and thought I should be sent likewise.
'No, no,' said the squire; 'my life's short when the gout's marching up to my middle, and I'll see as much of my heir as I can.

Why, the lad's my daughter's son: He shall grow up among his tenantry.

We'll beat the country and start a man at last to drive his yard of learning into him without rolling sheep's eyes right and left.' Unfortunately the squire's description of man was not started.

My aunt was handsome, an heiress (that is, she had money of her own coming from her mother's side of the family), and the tenderest woman alive, with a voice sweeter than flutes.