"I think the chorus and comment on all life might be included in two brief phrases given by our friend Shakspeare, one to Hamlet, the other to Othello: ''Tis very strange,' and ''Tis better as it is.'" "Ay, ay," said I thoughtfully.

Better as it was; better a thousand times.
I went to Mrs.Halifax, and helped her to describe the prospect to the inquisitive boys; finally coaxing the refractory Guy up the winding road, where, just as if it had been yesterday, stood my old friends, my four Lombardy poplars, three together and one apart.
Mrs.Tod descried us afar off and was waiting at the gate; a little stouter, a little rosier--that was all.

In her delight, she so absolutely forgot herself as to address the mother as Miss March; at which long-unspoken name Ursula started, her colour went and came, and her eyes turned restlessly towards the church hard by.
"It is all right--Miss--Ma'am, I mean.

Tod bears in mind Mr.Halifax's orders, and has planted lots o' flower-roots and evergreens." "Yes, I know." And when she had put all her little ones to bed--we, wondering where the mother was, went out towards the little churchyard, and found her quietly sitting there.
We were very happy at Enderley.

Muriel brightened up before she had been there many days.