To whomsoever the soil at any time belongs, to him belong the fruits of it. White parasols, and elephants mad with pride are the flowers of a grant of land.—Sir Wm. Jones' translation of an Indian grant of land, found at Tanna.
The widow is gathering nettles for her children's dinner; a perfumed seigneur, delicately lounging in the Œil de Boeuf, hath an alchemy whereby he will extract from her the third nettle, and call it rent.—Carlyle.
