Sublime

He was but a poor man himself, said Peggotty, but as good as gold and as true as steel—those were her similes.

'Beg your pardon, sir,' said Mr. Weller, senior, taking off his hat, 'I hope you've no fault to find with Sammy, Sir?' 'None whatever,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Wery glad to hear it, sir,' replied the old man; 'I took a good deal o' pains with his eddication, sir; let him run in the streets when he was wery young, and shift for hisself. It's the only

‘In point of fact,’ resumed Sir James, not choosing to dwell on ‘fits’, ‘Brooke doesn’t mean badly by his tenants or any one else, but he has got that way of paring and clipping at expenses.’

miserable little dogs, we laugh, with our visages as white as ashes, and our hearts sinking into our boots.

We were all, Merry Christmas Mrs. Gummidge! And she’s like, “Well, it might be, I don’t know. I been feeling so poorly.”

The whole affair was miserably small: his debts were small, even his expectations were not anything so very magnificent. Fred had known men to whom he would have been ashamed of confessing the smallness of his scrapes.