For three centuries after the battle of Hastings French was the language of the upper classes, of courts and schools and literature; yet so tenaciously did the common people cling to their own strong speech that in the end English absorbed almost the whole body of French words and became the language of the land. It was the welding of Saxon and French into one speech that produced the wealth of our modern English.—William J. Long, “English Literature.”
(1752)
Large-heartedness—See [Friend, The Orphan’s].
Larger, The, Extinguishing the Smaller—See [Sunlight and Starlight].
LAST RESORT OF A WOMAN
“I am not Mrs. Nation; I have no hatchet; I am not crazy.”
These words came from the lips of a Lewis woman, as she met her husband face to face in a hotel barroom the other evening, says the Lewis Pilot. They were directed to the bartender and the loungers, as the former handed the woman’s husband a glass of whisky.
She continued: “That man has not done a day’s work this winter, and I am worn out trying to support him and the rest of the family. I want to know if something can not be done to keep him from destroying his own life and starving his family?”
The woman was thin and pale. Her lips quivered as she spoke. Her frail body could hardly stand the strain of the unfamiliar environment. As she finished the little girl by her side burst into tears, the bartender took back the whisky, the abashed husband stood with bowed head, one by one the loungers left the room. Presently the bartender, gazing at the poor woman, solemnly vowed that the man should not drink at his bar again.
It was a pathetic scene; it was the last resort of a desperate woman. As she left the hotel with her husband and the little girl there was a lesson too painful for any pen to picture.