"You can see from his complexion that he is out of order, and that all that rich dinner will do him no good.

It was his wife's duty to see that he had something plain to eat, with none of them sauces and fal-lals, instead of playing the fine lady and making troubles out of nothing.

I've no patience with her!" "Still, he do look as if he'd a temper," persisted Mr.Bateson.
"And if he do, Caleb, what of that?
If a man in his own house hasn't the right to show a bit of temper, I should like to know who has?
I've no patience with the women that will get married and have a man of their own; and then cry their eyes out because the man isn't an old woman.

If they want meekness and obedience, let 'em remain single and keep lapdogs and canaries; and leave the husbands for those as can manage 'em and enjoy 'em, for there ain't enough to go round as it is." And Mrs.
Bateson waxed quite indignant.
Here Tremaine took up his parable.

"This weird figure, clothed in skins, and feeding upon nothing more satisfying than locusts and wild honey, is a type of all those who are set apart for the difficult and unsatisfactory lot of heralds and forerunners.