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Centrex stayed on the ground, going mainly over our left side, Lloyd Philpot and Champ Conway. On first down Telcon faked a handoff, rolled right and hit one of his backs, number 25, all alone in the end zone. The conversion was good and our kickreturn team left the bench. Bobby Iselin returned to the 17 where he was hit and fumbled. Lee Roy Tyler recovered for us. I jogged onto the field.
“The other one — Miss Mary Layne — is she still in that situation in India? A governess, or something of the kind, we heard she went out to be.”
But now I am free to confess that my patience broke down very sadly. Why, if what was written on that vellum was true, and Major Hockin correct as well, it came to no less than this, that my own dear father was a base-born son, and I had no right to the name I was so proud of! If, moreover, as I now began to dream, that terrible and mysterious man did not resemble my father so closely without some good reason, it seemed too likely that he might be his elder brother and the proper heir.
It is quite remarkable that from the beginning Lincoln's confidence in Grant was firm and abiding. This may have been partly due to the strong endorsements he had received from Representative Washburne and254 other mutual friends, although Grant was not highly regarded at home at that time, and found difficulty in obtaining a commission from the Governor of Illinois. President Lincoln had never seen him until he came East to take command of the army, and had heard evil as well as good reports concerning that silent but stubborn soldier who was working his way down the banks of the Mississippi and closing around Vicksburg. There is no evidence, however, except his own words, that Lincoln's faith in him was ever shaken. He gave Grant no orders, sent him no telegrams or letters such as he had written to Halleck, Buell, Rosecrans, and other commanders in the West, and there must have been some reason for his not doing so. We are left only the inference that his sagacity taught him that Grant was not a man to be interfered with; and although his patience, like that of the rest of the country, was being sorely tried by the lack of tangible results in the West, he waited until the problem was worked out and then wrote Grant the following candid and characteristic letter:
“Leo Vincey, or Kallikrates,” said Atene, “take which name thou wilt; thou thinkest ill of me perhaps, but know that at least I scorn to mock a rival in her mortal shame. She told us a wild tale but now, a tale true or false, but more false than true, I think, of how I robbed a goddess of a votary, and of how that goddess — Ayesha’s self perchance — was avenged upon me for the crime of yielding to the man I loved. Well, let goddesses — if such indeed there be — take their way and work their will upon the helpless, and I, a mortal, will take mine until the clutch of doom closes round my throat and chokes out life and memory, and I too am a goddess — or a clod.
“A large quantity of provisions had during two years or thereabouts been collected from different points, and the Castle of Douglas, newly repaired, and, as was thought, carefully guarded, was appointed as the place where the said provisions were to be put in store for the service of the King of England, or of the Lord Clifford, whichever should first enter the Western Marches with an English army, and stand in need of such a supply. This army was also to relieve our wants, I mean those of my uncle the Earl of Pembroke, who for some time before had lain with a considerable force in the town called Ayr, near the old Caledonian Forest, and where we had hot wars with the insurgent Scots. Well, sir, it happened, as in similar cases, that Thirlwall, though a bold and active soldier, was surprised in the Castle of Douglas, about Hallowmass, by this same worthy, young James Douglas. In no very good humour was he, as you may suppose; for his father, called William the Hardy, or William Longlegs, having refused, on any terms, to become Anglicized, was made a lawful prisoner, and died as such, closely confined in Berwick, or, as some say, in Newcastle. The news of his father’s death had put young Douglas into no small rage, and tended, I think, to suggest what he did in his resentment. Embarrassed by the quantity of provisions which he found in the castle, which, the English being superior in the country, he had neither the means to remove, nor the leisure to stay and consume, the fiend, as I think, inspired him with a contrivance to render them unfit for human use. You shall judge yourself whether it was likely to be suggested by a good or an evil spirit.
On alien shores”;
"Seem to have worked it all out," Joe Kenyon commented, with a deep sigh. "How long have you been making these plans?"
1.“We did not know which. They were both Colonels.”
2.“I reckon thar hain’t no ford hereabouts?” he asked, looking at her with a certain challenge.>
7. This voyadge, albeit it may be accomplished by barke or smallest pynnesse for advise or for a necessitie, yet for the distaunce, for burden and gaine in trade, the marchant will not for profitts sake use it but by shippes of greate burden; so as this realme shall have by that meane shippes of greate burden and of greate strengthe for the defence of this realme, and for the defence of that newe seate, as nede shall require, and withall greate increase of perfecte seamen, which greate princes in time of warres wante, and which kinde of men are neither nourished in fewe daies nor in fewe yeres.
But to view the subject in another point of view. Do passive indolent women make the best wives? Confining our discussion to the present moment of existence, let us see how such weak creatures perform their part? Do the women who, by the attainment of a few superficial accomplishments, have strengthened the prevailing prejudice, merely contribute to the happiness of their husbands? Do they display their charms merely to amuse them? And have women, who have early imbibed notions of passive obedience, sufficient character to manage a family or educate children? So far from it, that, after surveying the history of woman, I cannot help, agreeing with the severest satirist, considering the sex as the weakest as well as the most oppressed half of the species. What does history disclose but marks of inferiority, and how few women have emancipated themselves from the galling yoke of sovereign man? — So few, that the exceptions remind me of an ingenious conjecture respecting Newton: that he was probably a being of a superior order, accidentally caged in a human body. Following the same train of thinking, I have been led to imagine that the few extraordinary women who have rushed in eccentrical directions out of the orbit prescribed to their sex, were male spirits, confined by mistake in female frames. But if it be not philosophical to think of sex when the soul is mentioned, the inferiority must depend on the organs; or the heavenly fire, which is to ferment the clay, is not given in equal portions.
His revenge was in his good fortune in setting his own story afloatin the current of history. The first narrative of these events,published by Smith in his Oxford tract of 1612, was considerablyremodeled and changed in his "General Historie" of 1624. As we havesaid before, he had a progressive memory, and his opponents ought tobe thankful that the pungent Captain did not live to work the storyover a third time.
Intending to sail for America in the early part of June, I determined to spend the interval of six weeks in England, to which country my mind’s eye only had as yet been introduced. I had formed in Italy and France a resolute preference for old inns, considering that what they sometimes cost the ungratified body they repay the delighted mind. On my arrival in London, therefore, I lodged at a certain antique hostelry, much to the east of Temple Bar, deep in the quarter that I had inevitably figured as the Johnsonian. Here, on the first evening of my stay, I descended to the little coffee-room and bespoke my dinner of the genius of “attendance” in the person of the solitary waiter. No sooner had I crossed the threshold of this retreat than I felt I had cut a golden-ripe crop of English “impressions.” The coffee-room of the Red Lion, like so many other places and things I was destined to see in the motherland, seemed to have been waiting for long years, with just that sturdy sufferance of time written on its visage, for me to come and extract the romantic essence of it.