Poetry is not in my line, of course; still, it's a credit to a man to do anything well, if he has the gift; and she tells me that you have it, and plenty of it.
And though she's no fine lady, thank Heaven, I'll back her for good sense against any woman.

Come up, sir, and judge for yourself if I don't speak the truth; she will be delighted to meet you, and bade me say so." By this time good Mark had talked himself out of breath; and Elsley flushing up, as of old, at a little praise, began to stammer an excuse.
"His nerves were so weak, and his spirits so broken with late troubles." "My dear sir, that's the very reason I want you to come.

A bottle of port will cure the nerves, and a pleasant chat the spirits.

Nothing like forgetting all for a little time; and then to it again with a fresh lease of strength, and beat it at last like a man." "Too late, my dear sir; I must pay the penalty of my own folly," said Elsley, really won by the man's cordiality.
"Never too late, sir, while there's life left in us.

And," he went on in a gentler tone, "if we all were to pay for our own follies, or lie down and die when we saw them coming full cry at our heels, where would any one of us be by now?
I have been a fool in my time, young gentleman, more than once or twice; and that too when I was old enough to be your father: and down I went, and deserved what I got: but my rule always was--Fight fair; fall soft; know when you've got enough; and don't cry out when you've got it: but just go home; train again; and say--better luck next fight." And so old Mark's sermon ended (as most of them did) in somewhat Socratic allegory, savouring rather of the market than of the study; but Elsley understood him, and looked up with a smile.
"You too are somewhat of a poet in your way, I see, sir!" "I never thought to live to hear that, sir.