Lucilla (reprovingly). I know. And you've got into such a silly habit of seeing resemblances in things that are perfectly different. I'm sure I'm always telling you of it.
George. You are, my dear. But I'm not nearly so bad as I was. Think of all the things I used to compare you to before we were married!
Sarah Jane (to her Trooper). I could stand an' look at 'em hours, I could. I was born and bred in the country, and it do seem to bring back my old 'ome that plain.
Her Trooper. I'm country bred too, though yer mightn't think it. But there ain't much in sheep shearin' to my mind. If it was pig killin', now!
Sarah Jane. Ah, that's along o' your bein' in the milingtary, I expect.
Her Trooper. No, it ain't that. It's the reckerlections it 'ud call up. I 'ad a 'ole uncle a pork-butcher, d'ye see, and (with sentiment) many and many a 'appy hour I've spent as a boy—— [He indulges in tender reminiscences.
A Young Clerk (who belongs to a Literary Society, to his Fiancée). It has a wonderfully rural look—quite like a scene in 'Ardy, isn't it?
His Fiancée (who has "no time for reading rubbish"). I daresay; though I've never been there myself.
The Clerk. Never been? Oh, I see. You thought I said Arden—the Forest of Arden, in Shakspeare, didn't you?
His Fiancée. Isn't that where Mr. Gladstone lives, and goes cutting down the trees in?