284 Metaphors for t

'T is so much joy!

I thought maybe 't was some kind of a disease, and if he knew it was coming, he could give them some sort of a medicine to keep it awaylike being vaccinated

'T would have been a picnic, sure!

"Any woman what'd leave a po' li'l mite lak dat to perish to death ain't fitten t' be no dotter

An', fact, I thought it was the wind a spell, Then some misdoubted,couldn't fairly tell, Fust sure, then not, jest as you hold an eel, I knowed, an' didn't,fin'lly seemed to feel 'T was Concord Bridge a-talkin' off to kill With the Stone Spike thet's druv thru Bunker Hill: Whether't was so, or ef I only dreamed, I couldn't say; I tell it ez it seemed.

[Illustration: Letter T.] 'T is Sunday morning, dear mamma!

This he tells, this he brindles and burnishes, on a winter's eve; 't is his star of set glory, his rejuvenescence to descant upon, Far from me be it ( avertant!)

"Yes, mum 't is the word!

"'T is a harsh tongue the Americanos speak in their throat," replied the boy.

Yes, 't is Claudius, as I thought, Now he has a chance: I 'll see If he cares to follow me, Guessing rightly what has brought Me to-day unto the grove: Ah!

3, T T T are trusses over which are tightly stretched the wires, B B B. A A' are two beams rigidly clamped to the wires; t is another truss with stretched wire,

"'T wouldn't be no use coortin' Margaret Heptonstall.

Now, as the music low declines, 'T is sighing of the forest pines; Or 't is the fitful, varied war Of distant falls or troubled shore.

Truly 't is a brave crèche!"

'T is an instant's play, 'T is a fond ambush, Just to make bliss Earn her own surprise!

I'm goin' t' be a sailor," said the strange boy.

"I'll bet yer 't was Aunt Nancy; she's got a sharp tongue, but a lot of silk pieces an' a tender spot in her heart fer yew, Abe.

'T is ruinutter ruin!

Now, as the tone grows full or sharp, 'T is whispering of the Æolian harp.

He did an' said everything thet mortal man could,thet he loved me better'n ever, an' thet 't would be the death uv him, an' tuk on drefful.

He leans her head upon his breast, She knew 't was not her home of rest,

'T is the majority In this, as all, prevails.

'T is an angel's sin!

You know right well, 'T was not the thousand guilders that I wanted For thee, or me, or any!Ten would serve.

It 'ud be a terrible thing if she saw one out on the tundra, an' left the trail t' try and ketch him; or if she smelled some of 'em in the crowd an' made a break for 'em just when she ought t' be ready t' start.

284 Metaphors for  t