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It was the mate of the steamer. He
gave one look, and cried, 'O boys--you had better quit.'
"We were silent. He talked apart with the captain
for a time,--seemed to argue with him. Then they went
away together to the steamer.
"When our skipper came back we learned that the
steamer was the Sommerville, Captain Nash, from West
Australia to Singapore via Batavia with mails, and that
the agreement was she should tow us to Anjer or Ba-
tavia, if possible, where we could extinguish the fire by
scuttling, and then proceed on our voyage--to Bankok!
The old man seemed excited.
'We will do it yet,' he
said to Mahon, fiercely. He shook his fist at the sky.
Nobody else said a word.
"At noon the steamer began to tow. She went ahead
slim and high, and what was left of the Judea followed
at the end of seventy fathom of tow-rope,--followed
her swiftly like a cloud of smoke with mastheads pro-
truding above. We went aloft to furl the sails. We
coughed on the yards, and were careful about the bunts.
Do you see the lot of us there, putting a neat furl on the
sails of that ship doomed to arrive nowhere? There
was not a man who didn't think that at any moment the
masts would topple over.
We
coughed on the yards, and were careful about the bunts.
Do you see the lot of us there, putting a neat furl on the
sails of that ship doomed to arrive nowhere? There
was not a man who didn't think that at any moment the
masts would topple over. From aloft we could not see
the ship for smoke, and they worked carefully, passing
the gaskets with even turns. 'Harbor furl--aloft
there!' cried Mahon from below.
"You understand this? I don't think one of those
chaps expected to get down in the usual way.
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I cannot be so sanguine as Mr. Weston. I am very much afraid
that it will all end in nothing. Mr. Weston, I dare say, has been
telling you exactly how the matter stands?"
"Yes--it seems to depend upon nothing but the ill-humour
of Mrs. Churchill, which I imagine to be the most certain
thing in the world."
"My Emma!" replied Mrs. Weston, smiling, "what is the certainty
of caprice?" Then turning to Isabella, who had not been
attending before--"You must know, my dear Mrs.
Knightley, that we are by no means so sure of seeing Mr. Frank Churchill,
in my opinion, as his father thinks. It depends entirely upon
his aunt's spirits and pleasure; in short, upon her temper.
To you--to my two daughters--I may venture on the truth.
Mrs. Churchill rules at Enscombe, and is a very odd-tempered woman;
and his coming now, depends upon her being willing to spare him."
"Oh, Mrs. Churchill; every body knows Mrs. Churchill,"
replied Isabella: "and I am sure I never think of that poor young
man without the greatest compassion.
"Oh, Mrs. Churchill; every body knows Mrs. Churchill,"
replied Isabella: "and I am sure I never think of that poor young
man without the greatest compassion. To be constantly living
with an ill-tempered person, must be dreadful. It is what we
happily have never known any thing of; but it must be a life
of misery. What a blessing, that she never had any children!
Poor little creatures, how unhappy she would have made them!"
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At the Thing or Assembly at Viborg, the Danish nobles burn the
laws of the king. They flame up high, illuminating the period and
the lawgiver, and throw a glory into the dark prison tower, where an
old man is growing gray and bent. With his finger he marks out a
groove in the stone table. It is the popular king who sits there, once
the ruler of three kingdoms, the friend of the citizen and the
peasant. It is Christian the Second. Enemies wrote his history. Let us
remember his improvements of seven and twenty years, if we cannot
forget his crime.
Enemies wrote his history. Let us
remember his improvements of seven and twenty years, if we cannot
forget his crime.
A ship sails away, quitting the Danish shores. A man leans against
the mast, casting a last glance towards the Island Hueen. It is
Tycho Brahe. He raised the name of Denmark to the stars, and was
rewarded with injury, loss and sorrow. He is going to a strange
country.
"The vault of heaven is above me everywhere," he says, "and what
do I want more?"
And away sails the famous Dane, the astronomer, to live honored
and free in a strange land.
"Ay, free, if only from the unbearable sufferings of the body!"
comes in a sigh through time, and strikes upon our ear. What a
picture! Griffenfeldt, a Danish Prometheus, bound to the rocky
island of Munkholm.
We are in America, on the margin of one of the largest rivers;
an innumerable crowd has gathered, for it is said that a ship is to
sail against the wind and weather, bidding defiance to the elements.
The man who thinks he can solve the problem is named Robert Fulton.
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