‘Carve or discourse; do not a famine fear.
Who carves is kind to two, who talks to all.’
You understand? The ‘fearing a famine’ is applied to people gulping down solid vivers without a word, as if the ten lean kine began to-morrow.
Do you remember condemning something of mine for being too obtrusively didactic. Listen to Herbert—
‘Is it not verse except enchanted groves
And sudden arbours shadow coarse-spun lines?
Must purling streams refresh a lover’s loves?
Must all be veiled, while he that reads divines
Catching the sense at two removes?’
You see, ‘except’ was used for ‘unless’ before 1630.
Tuesday.—The riots were a hum. No more has been heard; and one of the war-steamers has deserted in disgust.
The Moonstone is frightfully interesting: isn’t the detective prime? Don’t say anything about the plot; for I have only read on to the end of Betteredge’s narrative, so don’t know anything about it yet.
I thought to have gone on to Thurso to-night, but the coach was full; so I go to-morrow instead.
To-day I had a grouse: great glorification.
There is a drunken brute in the house who disturbed my rest last night. He’s a very respectable man in general, but when on the ‘spree’ a most consummate fool. When he came in he stood on the top of the stairs and preached in the dark with great solemnity and no audience from 12 P.M. to half-past one. At last I opened my door. ‘Are we to have no sleep at all for that drunken brute?’ I said. As I hoped, it had the desired effect. ‘Drunken brute!’ he howled, in much indignation; then after a pause, in a voice of some contrition, ‘Well, if I am a drunken brute, it’s only once in the twelvemonth!’ And that was the end of him; the insult rankled in his mind; and he retired to rest. He is a fish-curer, a man over fifty, and pretty rich too. He’s as bad again to-day; but I’ll be shot if he keeps me awake, I’ll douse him with water if he makes a row.—Ever your affectionate son,