DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.2056#0301
EVENING. I43
once explains her character; we are certain that
she was born to command. As to her husband,
God made him, and he must pass for a man: what
his wife has made him, is indicated by the cow's
horns, which are so placed as to become his own.
The hopes of the family, with a cockade, riding
upon papa's cane, seems much dissatisfied whh fe-
male sway*. A face with more of the shrew in
embryo than that of the girl, is scarcely possible to
conceive. Upon such a character, the most casual
observer pronounces, with the decision of La-
vater.
Nothing can be better imagined than the group
in the alehouse. They have taken a refreshing
walk into the country, and, being determined
to have a cooling pipe, seat themselves in a
chair-lumbered closet, with a low ceiling; where
every man pulling off his wig, and throwing his
pocket handkerchief over his head, inhales the
fumes of hot punch, the smoke of half a do-
zen pipes, and the dust from the road. If this
is not rural felicity, what is? The old gentle-
man in a black bag-wig, and the two women
near him, sensibly enough take their seats in the
open air.
From a woman milking a cow, we conjecture
the hour to be about five in the afternoon; and
from the same circumstance, I am inclined to
think the party are going to their pastoral bower,
rather than returning/row it.
once explains her character; we are certain that
she was born to command. As to her husband,
God made him, and he must pass for a man: what
his wife has made him, is indicated by the cow's
horns, which are so placed as to become his own.
The hopes of the family, with a cockade, riding
upon papa's cane, seems much dissatisfied whh fe-
male sway*. A face with more of the shrew in
embryo than that of the girl, is scarcely possible to
conceive. Upon such a character, the most casual
observer pronounces, with the decision of La-
vater.
Nothing can be better imagined than the group
in the alehouse. They have taken a refreshing
walk into the country, and, being determined
to have a cooling pipe, seat themselves in a
chair-lumbered closet, with a low ceiling; where
every man pulling off his wig, and throwing his
pocket handkerchief over his head, inhales the
fumes of hot punch, the smoke of half a do-
zen pipes, and the dust from the road. If this
is not rural felicity, what is? The old gentle-
man in a black bag-wig, and the two women
near him, sensibly enough take their seats in the
open air.
From a woman milking a cow, we conjecture
the hour to be about five in the afternoon; and
from the same circumstance, I am inclined to
think the party are going to their pastoral bower,
rather than returning/row it.