Busy is Mrs. Miff this morning at the church-door, beating and dusting the altar-cloth, the carpet and the cushions; and much has Mrs. Miff to say about the wedding they are going to have. Mrs. Miff is told that the new furniture and alterations in the house cost full five thousand pound, if they cost a penny; and Mrs. Miff has heard, upon the best authority, that the lady hasn't got a sixpence wherewithal to bless herself. Mrs. Miff remembers, likewise, as if it had happened yesterday, the first wife's funeral, and then the christening, and then the other funeral; and Mrs. Miff says, By-the-bye, she'll soap-and-water that 'ere tablet presently, against the company arrive.—Dickens.
Mr. Dombey was a grave sight, behind the decanters, in a state of dignity; and the East India Director was a forlorn sight, near the unoccupied end of the table, in a state of solitude; and the major was a military sight, relating stories of the Duke of York to six of the seven mild men (the ambitious one was utterly quenched); and the Bank Director was a lowly sight, making a plan of his little attempt at a pinery, with dessert knives, for a group of admirers; and Cousin Feenix was a thoughtful sight, as he smoothed his long wristbands and stealthily adjusted his wig.—Dickens.
The author is very much at his ease in the last example; the novice who should yawn in our faces with such engaging candour would render himself liable to misinterpretation.
c. The well-worn 'flood-of-tears-and-sedan-chair' pleasantry.
Phib Cook left her evening wash-tub and appeared at her door in soapsuds, a bonnet-poke, and general dampness.—Eliot.
Sir Charles, of course, rescues her from the clutches of the Italian, and they return together in triumph and a motor-car.—Times.
Miss Nipper...shook her head and a tin-canister, and began unasked to make the tea.—Dickens.
And for the rest it is not hard to be a stoic in eight-syllable metre and a travelling-carriage.—Lowell.
But what the bare-legged men were doing baffled conjecture and the best glasses.—E. F. Benson.
d. Other worn-out phrases of humorous tendency.
For, tell it not in Gath, the Bishop had arrived on a bicycle.—D. Sladen.
Tell it not in Smith-st., but...—Guernsey Evening Press.
Sleeping the sleep of the just.
The gallant sons of Mars.—Times.
Mr. Mackenzie, with a white hat...and long brown leather gaiters buttoned upon his nether anatomy.—Lockhart.
