“Consarn it, how a buss will crack of a still frosty night! Mrs. Jones was about half-way between asleep and awake.
“‘There goes my yeast-bottle,’ says she to herself, ‘bust into twenty hundred pieces, and my bread is all dough again.’”
In “The Tour of Dr. Syntax,” Combe gives us the following amusing passages:
Squire. This, Doctor Syntax, is my sister;
Why, my good sir, you have not kissed her.
Syntax. Do not suppose I’m such a brute
As to disdain the sweet salute.
Squire. And this, sir, is my loving wife,
The joy and honor of my life.