She was the only Syrian female we have seen yet who was not so sinfully ugly that she couldn't smile after ten o'clock Saturday night without breaking the Sabbath.

Her child was a hard specimen, though--there wasn't enough of it to make a pie, and the poor little thing looked so pleadingly up at all who came near it (as if it had an idea that now was its chance or never,) that we were filled with compassion which was genuine and not put on.
But this last new horse I have got is trying to break his neck over the tent-ropes, and I shall have to go out and anchor him.

Jericho and I have parted company.

The new horse is not much to boast of, I think.
One of his hind legs bends the wrong way, and the other one is as straight and stiff as a tent-pole.

Most of his teeth are gone, and he is as blind as a bat.