Comin Thro the Rye a Novel

our worst enemy to accuse us of being a sociable family. We care for nobody, no, not we, and nobody cares for us ! If we ever had any friends, which I strongly doubt, they have betaken themselves to foreign parts, or melted like snow, or died of a " waste" or?something ; and as we have no relations?uncles, aunts, or cousins?we never see a soul. The truth is, papa quarrels with every man and woman he knows, on principle, and has come to the very end of his acquaintance, being (I think) heartily sorry that there is no one left that he can get a chance of being rude to. Once a year or so, some determinately peaceful neighbour, who is fond of mother, and wishes to know how she fares, drives through our hospitable gates, and in fear and trembling pulls the creaking body of our front-door bell, rusty with disuse as was ever that one belonging to poor, down-trodden, cowardly Mariana, who, in my opinion, was never worthy of the honour of being sung in verse. The sound of that bell when it does ring strikes as much consternation to our souls as the last trump might; from far and near we gather to see the fun? doors open, heads are popped round corners, the footman rushes hither and thither, seeking to ascertain the whereabouts of " master," lest, unhappily, he usher the daring intruder into that awful presence, and thereby secure his own instant dismissal. In the distance is seen papa furiously dashing his hat upon his head, and rushing out of the house by some back doo... --This text refers to the Paperback edition.