Hard Times

The star had shown him where to find the God of the poor; and through humility, and sorrow, and forgiveness, he had gone to his Redeemer's rest.

Everybody knows how unerring Mr. Bounderby's judgment is. Everybody has had proofs of it. It must be the theme of general conversation. Disparage anything in yourself but your judgment, sir," said Mrs. Sparsit, laughing.

"Beg your pardon, sir. You're wanted, sir, if you please."

A general recollection that this was the kind of thing the Police said to the swell mob, caused Mr. Harthouse to ask the waiter in return, with bristling indignation, what the Devil he meant by "wanted"?

What I did you can do. Why don't you go and do it?

"Because this isn't a strong building, and too much of you might bring it down!"

"We were peeping at the circus," muttered Louisa, haughtily, without lifting up her eyes, "and father caught us."

He went his way, but she stood on the same spot, rubbing the cheek he had kissed, with her handkerchief, until it was burning red. She was still doing this, five minutes afterwards.

"What are you about, Loo?" her brother sulkily remonstrated. "You'll rub a hole in your face."

"You may cut the piece out with your penknife if you like, Tom. I wouldn't cry!"

"Sleary's Horse–riding"

steps, a brazen door–plate, and a brazen door–handle full stop. It was a size larger than Mr. Bounderby's house, as other houses were from a size to half–a–dozen sizes smaller; in all other particulars, it was strictly according to pattern.

The Bank offered no violence to the wholesome monotony of the town. It was another red brick house, with black outside shutters, green inside blinds, a black street–door up two white