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Meanwhile another figure had drawn near—a figure not unknown to Yvonne’s eyes.
“I have been talking for more than an hour with Casimir. He has told me everything. What wonders you have seen! And are you not happy, dearest? Are you not strong and satisfied?”
Nothing dies so hard as prejudice, unless it be sentiment. Indeed, prejudice and sentiment are but different manifestations of the same principle by which men pronounce on things according to individual feeling, independent of facts and free from the restraint of positive knowledge. And on nothing in modern times has so much sentiment been lavished as on the Irish question; nowhere has so much passionately generous, but at the same time so much absolutely ignorant, partisanship been displayed as by English sympathisers with the Irish peasant. This is scarcely to be wondered at. The picture of a gallant nation ground under the heel of an iron despotism—of an industrious and virtuous peasantry rackrented, despoiled, brutalised, and scarce able to live by their labour that they may supply the vicious wants of oppressive landlords—of unarmed men, together with women and little children, ruthlessly bludgeoned by a brutal police, or shot by a bloodthirsty soldiery for no greater offence than verbal protests against illegal evictions—of a handful of ardent patriots ready to undergo imprisonment and contumely in their struggle against one of the strongest nations in the world for only so much political freedom as is granted to-day by despots themselves—such a picture as this is calculated to excite the sympathies of all generous souls. And it has done so in England, where "Home Rule" and "Justice to Ireland" have become the rallying cries of one section of the Liberal party, to the disruption and political suicide of the whole body; and where the less knowledge imported into the question the more fervid the advocacy and the louder the demand.
"Yes, tell him," cried Miss Fernly, "that I may be cleared of my part in this transaction. You deceived me as well."
1."'Either the President must do it himself, and be all the while active in it, or
2.As I turned toward my companions, 87 the elder, pointing to the line exclaimed; “Pretty soon there’ll be four generations of Georges in this lot, and that’s about all there is to it, I guess. There couldn’t be any design in takin’ all of ’em from me in so short a time. A merciful God wouldn’t have done such a cruel thing; if a kind God had had anything to do with it, he would let some of ’em outlive me to have been a comfort in my old age and to have kept the old place where we were all born in the family name. No, I don’t b’leve in sich kindness; all of ’em ought to have lived; they were jest as good as they could be, not one of ’em ever told a lie or did a mean thing as long as they lived. Then if they were so good, as they were, and nobody can dispute it, why were they all taken away from me so soon, and so many mean critters, good for nothing to nobody, allowed to live? No, the ministers 88 may talk to me from now to the end of eternity, that their God, if he really does sich cruelties, is merciful, and I won’t b’leve ’em. It’s all nonsense to murder a man alive and break his old heart and call it merciful and all for the best. There is no mercy or best about it, it’s all wrong from beginnin’ to end, and I don’t b’leve the heathen’s god or anybody’s God could be so cruel and unjust.>
“Yea,” said he, “and shall they who see themselves robbed worship the robber? Then indeed shall men be changed from what they are now, and they shall be sluggards, dolts, and cowards beyond all the earth hath yet borne. Such are not the men I have known in my life-days, and that now I love in my death.”
Loud was the outcry in our respective families. My brothers, who were my trustees under my father’s will, asked, not unnaturally, what we proposed to live on for the rest of the year — and there was no answer! But the most indignant protests came from my husband’s family. In Boston married couples, after a brief honeymoon abroad, were expected to divide the rest of their lives between Boston in winter and its suburbs, or the neighbouring sea-shore, in summer; and it was told of an old Mr. Russell that on driving away from the church on his wedding day he remarked to his bride, perhaps rather wistfully: “And now, my dear, there is nothing before us but Mount Auburn” (the family cemetery). For the Bostonians have never been backward in satirizing their own peculiarities.
By the day of the inaugural, the secession of seven States was an accomplished fact and the government of the Confederacy had already been organised in Montgomery. Alexander H. Stephens had so far modified his original position that he had accepted the post of Vice-President and in his own inaugural address had used the phrase, "Slavery is the corner-stone of our new nation," a phrase that was to make much mischief in Europe for the hopes of the new Confederacy.
During this part of my childhood, one of my greatest amusements was experimental science; in the theoretical, however, not the practical sense of the word; not trying experiments — a kind of discipline which I have often regretted not having had — nor even seeing, but merely reading about them. I never remember being so wrapt up in any book, as I was in Joyce's Scientific Dialogues; and I was rather recalcitrant to my father's criticisms of the bad reasoning respecting the first principles of physics, which abounds in the early part of that work. I devoured treatises on Chemistry, especially that of my father's early friend and schoolfellow, Dr. Thomson, for years before I attended a lecture or saw an experiment.