Mr. O'Rourke, now Father O'Rourke, probably through the high favor he held in the Santi Apostoli, had joined us as Chaplain—although, I believe, such a course was unusual from the Propaganda—and was soon friends with every one from the General downwards. Though he had lost nothing of his old lively disposition, he was a different man from what I had ever seen him when he stood up in his robes before us at the Holy Office of the Mass.
Historic Highways of the South.
“Uncle Berry,” continued Mr. Peyton, “I find, arrived in Tennessee in the month of February, 1806. In the spring of that year he made a match of mile heats, 0 a side, over the Hartsville course, with Henrietta against Cotton’s Cygnet, which he won.
IRIS. The 7
“Here is where I live, my friend, but I can drive you on to Eleusis if you wish,” said the farmer.
“No, no Delia—but—but well” ses she, “the fack is I’m always thinking about him, and now—now ackshully I thort I saw him—over there” ses she.
At the tap of the drum the battle began. Duane was first on his stride and showed the way around the turn. Here Boston made a run and shortly after entering the stretch was on even terms with him. Head and head they passed the stand. A mighty shout went up from the vast crowd and as they started on the second mile you could hear, “0 on Duane!” “A ,000 on Boston!” “Watch him run him out!” “Stay with him, old white nose!” and a thousand other such exclamations from the friends of each. Rounding the lower turn, Duane having the track, Cornelius took a slight pull on Boston, but on entering the back stretch he made a run and at the half they were nearly lapped. Rounding the upper turn, however, Duane shook him off. Another shout from the backers of Duane and more money goes up. Entering the stretch the game son of Timoleon makes another run at his flying antagonist, and, although he closes up the space, he can only get on Duane’s hip, and in this order, head and hip, they pass the stand and swing around the turn. Cornelius is content to hold this position until he enters the back stretch, when he again calls on Boston; slowly but surely the red coat of Boston inches up and at the half is hid behind Duane. So even are they running that it looks like one horse and one rider; in this position they ran around the upper turn, down the home stretch and enter the fourth mile as even as a carriage team with the deafening shouts of the multitude following them. Rounding the lower turn Steve for the first time takes a pull on Duane, evidently with a view of saving him for the finish; Cornelius on Boston moves to the front, intending to take the track, but Steve has no idea of giving up this advantage, and he keeps Duane moving just close enough to keep Boston on the outside. In this position they race to the head of the stretch. Here Steve begins to make a run; down the stretch they come, hip and head, but in spite of all Cornelius’ efforts and in spite of the long, tireless strides of Boston, the brown son of Hedgford overhauls him when half-way down the stretch, but it has taken the last remnant of his reserve power to do this, and head to head, leap for leap, they strain their hardened muscles. A child’s blanket would have covered them. Both riders were rolling in their saddles from exhaustion, but were lifting and urging all they could. Boston had been running purely on his courage. Cornelius had neither whip nor spur. Steve had on spurs that had more than once in the finish drawn the claret from Duane. “A dead heat!” “A dead heat!” shout the crowd. No. One more stride with a savage dig that sent the rowels home in the quivering flanks of his horse and at the same time lifting his head Steve sends Duane under the wire a winner by a scant head, in 7:52.
The high-born maidens amongst the noble families were also trained by the Druids in poetry and music, and in the exercise of the chase, such as archery and throwing the lance, to give their bodies health, vigour and beauty, while those endowed with peculiar intellect were admitted into the bardic orders, and became the priestess, prophetess, or poetess of the tribe; who inspired men by her eloquence and had power by her incantations over the deep mysteries of life. Such was Eodain, the chief poetess of Erin, the guide and inspirer of Eugene, the king of the South, the prophetess of her nation, who saved him and his kingdom from ruin by her wisdom, and redeemed him by her counsels from his dissolute and evil life.
“How do you make that out?” he asked.
Outside of a football field after a close and exciting game Jack believed he had never before heard such a racket. The brave fellows up on the hill, who had thrown the Turks out of their trenches by bayonet thrusts, and close in-and-out fighting, waved their hats, and let their lungs have full play.
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