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Page 57 - Brother, you have merited death! The hatchet or the war-club shall finish your career! — When I begged of you to follow me in the fortunes of war, you was deaf to my cries — you spurned my entreaties! " Brother! you have merited death and shall have your deserts! When the rebels raised their hatchets to fight their good master, you sharpened your knife, you brightened your rifle and led on our foes to the fields of our fathers!
Page 238 - I passed many and many a delightful night in reading. I remember in this way to have read a history of the French Revolution, and to have obtained from it a better and more enduring knowledge of its events and horrors, and of the actors in that great national tragedy, than I have received from all subsequent reading. I remember also how happy I was in being able to borrow the book of a Mr. Keyes, after a two-mile tramp through the snow, shoeless, my feet swaddled in remnants of a rag-carpet.
Page 75 - And the rank grass encircles a few scattered bones. The names of the fallen the traveller leaves Cut out with his knife in the bark of the trees. But little avail his affectionate arts, For the names of the fallen are graved in our hearts.
Page 180 - Chinese thought, such an expression as "church paths" shows that it is not a close translation: Where spades grow bright, and idle swords grow dull; Where jails are empty, and where barns are full; Where church paths are with frequent feet outworn; Law court-yards weedy, silent and forlorn; Where doctors foot it, and where farmers ride; Where age abounds, and youth is multiplied; Where these signs are, they clearly indicate A happy people, and well-governed state.
Page 238 - Such, at any rate, was my own experience. At night you had only to feed the kettles and keep up the fires, the sap having been gathered and the wood cut before dark.
Page 76 - The eye that was sparkling, no longer is bright, The arm of the mighty, death conquered its might, The bosoms that once for their country beat high, To those bosoms the sods of the valley are nigh. Sleep, soldiers of merit, sleep, gallants of yore, The hatchet is fallen, the struggle is o'er. While the fir tree is green and the wind rolls a wave, The tear drop shall brighten the turf of the brave.
Page 75 - Ah ! where are the soldiers that fought here of yore ? The sod is upon them, they'll struggle no more, The hatchet is fallen, the red man is low ; But near him reposes the arm of his foe. The bugle is silent, the war-whoop is dead ; There's a murmur of waters and woods in their stead ; And the raven and owl chant a symphony drear, From the dark-waving pines o'er the combatants
Page 57 - When those rebels had drove us from the fields of our fathers to seek out new homes, it was you who could dare to step forth as their pilot, and conduct them even to the doors of our wigwams, to butcher our children and put us to death! No crime can be greater! — But though you have merited death and shall die on this spot, my hands shall not be stained in the blood of a brother! Who will strike?
Page 57 - BROTHER ! You have merited death, and shall die by our hands ! When those rebels had driven us from the fields of our fathers to seek out new houses, it was you who could dare to step forth as their pilot, and conduct them even to the doors of our wigwams, to butcher our children and put us to death! No crime can be greater ! But though you have merited death, and shall die on this...
Page 240 - This expedition was a theme for much gossip. The wonders of the ' new store ' were described to staring eyes and open mouths. The merchant and his clerk were criticised in their deportment, manners, and dress. The former wore shiny boots with tassels — the latter, a ruffle shirt — and both smelt of pomatum ! I do not believe that the word ' dandy ' had then been invented, or it would have certainly come in play on that occasion.