em, and 's done with 'em i' no time; but there's Mills, now, sits i' the
chimney-corner and reads the paper pretty nigh from morning to night, and when
he's got to th' end on't he's more addleheaded than he was at the beginning.
He's full o' this peace now, as they talk on; he's been reading and reading, and
thinks he's got to the bottom on't. Why, Lor' bless you, Mills, says I, you see
no more into this thing nor you can see into the middle of a potato. I'll tell
you what it is: you think it'll be a fine thing for the country; and I'm not
again' it - mark my words - I'm not again' it. But it's my opinion as there's
them at th' head o' this country as are worse enemies to us nor Bony and all the
mounseers he's got at 's back; for as for the mounseers, you may skewer
half-a-dozen of 'em at once as if they war frogs.«
    »Ay, ay,« said Martin Poyser, listening with an air of much intelligence and
edification, »they ne'er ate a bit o' beef i' their lives. Mostly sallet, I
reckon.«
    »And says I to Mills,« continued Mr. Craig, »Will you try to make me believe
as furriners like them can do us half th' harm them ministers do with their bad
government? If King George 'ud turn 'em all away and govern by himself, he'd see
everything righted. He might take on Billy Pitt again if he liked; but I don't
see myself what we want wi' anybody besides King and Parliament. It's that nest
o' ministers does the mischief, I tell you.« »Ah, it's fine talking,« observed
Mrs. Poyser, who was now seated near her husband, with Totty on her lap - »it's
fine talking. It's hard work to tell which is Old Harry when everybody's got
boots on.«
    »As for this peace,« said Mr. Poyser, turning his head on one side in a
dubitative manner, and giving a precautionary puff to his pipe between each
sentence, »I don't know. Th' war's a fine thing for the country