Many are ready to talk of some crafts under the name of art, which must now, forsooth, be spelt with a capital letter--why, I know no more than the artists.
John Turner had his Art, and now exercised it.

I always noticed that during the earlier and more piquant courses of a meal he was cynical and apt to give speech on matters of human meanness and vanity not unknown to many who are silent about them.

Later on, when the dishes became more succulent, so would his views of life sweeten and acquire a mellower flavour.

His round face now began to beam more pleasantly at me across the well-served table, like a rich autumn moon rising over a fat land.
"Pity it is," he said, as he placed a lamb cutlet on my plate, "that you and your father cannot agree." "Pity that the guv'nor is so unreasonable," I answered.
"I do not suppose there is any question of reason on either side," rejoined my companion, with a laugh.

"But I think you might make a little more allowance.