时间：2020-11-28 09:38:02 作者：龙之谷 浏览量：88792
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I imagine that the harvest season has always been, in every land and in every time, a period of rejoicing and gladness. I remember it was so among the slaves on the plantation when I was a boy. As I watched these men and listened to the quaint and melancholy little songs they sang, while the red wine gushed out from under their trampling feet, I was reminded of the corn-huskings among the slaves, and of the songs the slaves sang at those times.
"FIRST PLATOON!" That was for the benefit of Lieutenant Piacentelli, commanding the tail-end of the Regiment, the platoon marching on either side of the lumbering Decontamination Vehicle, their safety-suit filters clogging with the dust.
In the fall of 1812, over the same course, she won a sweepstake, 0 entrance, four mile heats, beating Colonel Bell’s Diomed mare, a horse called Clifden, and Col. Ed Bradley’s “Dungannon.” (General Jackson was interested in Dungannon.) This was a most exciting and interesting race, especially to the ladies, who attended in great numbers; those of Davidson County, with Aunt Rachel Jackson and her niece, Miss Rachel Hays, at their head, backing Dungannon, while the Sumner County ladies, led by Miss Clarissa Bledsoe, daughter of the pioneer hero, Col. Anthony Bledsoe, bet their last glove on little Maria. After this second defeat, General Jackson became terribly in earnest, and before he gave up the effort to beat Maria, he ransacked Virginia, South Carolina, Georgia and Kentucky. He was almost as clamorous for a horse as was Richard in the battle of Bosworth Field. He first wrote Col. William R. Johnson to send him the best four mile horse in Virginia, without regard to price, expressing a preference for the famous Bel-Air mare, Old Favorite. Colonel Johnson sent him, at a high price, the celebrated horse, Pacolet, by imported Citizen, who had greatly distinguished himself as a four miler in Virginia. In the fall of 1813, at Nashville, Maria won a sweepstake, ,000 entrance, 0 forfeit, four mile heats, beating Pacolet with great ease, two paying forfeit. It was said that Pacolet had received an injury in one of his fore ankles. The General, being anything but satisfied with the result, made a match on Pacolet against Maria for ,000 a side, 0 forfeit, four mile heats, to come off over the same course, the fall of 1814; but, Pacolet being still lame, he paid forfeit. These repeated failures only made the General more inflexible in his purpose, and, in conjunction with Mr. James Jackson, who then resided in the vicinity of Nashville, he sent to South Carolina and bought Tam O’Shanter, a horse distinguished in that state.
At his little cottage gate stood Bud Billings, the best slubber in the cotton mill. Bud never talked to any one except the Bishop, and his wife, who was the worst Xantippe in Cottontown, declared she had lived with him six months straight and never heard him come nearer speaking than a grunt. It was also a saying of Richard Travis that Bud had been known to break all records for silence by drawing a year’s wages at the mill, never missing a minute and never speaking a word.
“Delia—what are you waiting for?”
Then came a pause. Mr. Forte sat still, his elbow on the table, his head resting on his hand. He looked old and sad and tired, and George, with compunction, remembered his promise to Rafella.
1.fondness of one who murmurs the tenderest of all endearments, added softly, "Eleanor."
2.The note of that night was youth. There was no hectic excitement, no Bacchic frenzy: everybody was jolly glad to be alive. Somebody has defined happiness as conscious pleasure. If that definition holds good, then I was happy that night, for I remember saying to myself: “I am coming here again.” I loved the feeling of life the place gave me; the exhilaration of it seemed to pierce into my marrow. I did not want to talk to anybody. I merely wanted to sit back and watch everything: the 275furtive smiles of half-shy women who, happy in the arms of those they loved, were afraid to reveal too much of their happiness; the most delicate ankles of a slim girl I knew, but whose name (was it Kitty or Mimi?) I only half remembered; the kaleidoscope of colour on the platform where the dancers were. The women were like flowers—orchids suddenly endowed with movement.... I compared the scene with the spectacle afforded me by Murray’s Club a few nights previously, when Ivan Heald and I were taken there for an hour or two. Some ladies at Murray’s had had green hair, but only a poet like Baudelaire can wear green hair with success. But at Murray’s the people were all old. Young girls of twenty were old. Everybody was old except the aged, and they pranced and frisked to prove their unconquerable youth.... But at this jolly Crab Tree youth was in the air, in the music, in the laughter.>
And there the good man sate, talking his nonsense to keep me up, holding me in his arms covered with his cassock, which he had stripped off when first he found me, in no little danger from the rascally camp-followers and the miserable peasants, who were prowling about ready to put a knife into any one who offered the least resistance. Indeed, the peasants killed, resistance or not; for each soldier dead, no matter what side, they looked on as one enemy the less.