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Procter, the mother, was filling pans and opening and closing the oven door with quick, somewhat noisy movements. When in time all were gathered about the dining table, they were an interesting looking family. Mrs. Procter, young, despite her four children, wore a little worried frown strangely at conflict with her palpable desire to make the best of things.
Procter said: "In time our little boy Peter will build great bridges." "That four horses can walk across, daddy?" Peter cried in ecstasy. "That a hundred horses can walk across, and a big engine pull safely its train of cars." Then again into the inventor's eyes leaped a radiance.
It's not like Thursday, that's the shape of a great snowy white ship on a sparkling sea. I don't like Wednesday myself, mother." "Well, I'm sorry," returned Mrs. Procter. "But it's not in my power to shape days to please you children," she spoke crisply. "Are you tired, mother?" asked Suzanna, after a pause. "I think I'm always tired these days," Mrs.
Behind are "Methley," Lord Pollington, in a broad-brimmed hat, and the booted leg of Kinglake, who modestly hid his figure by a tree, but exposed his foot, of which he was very proud. Of the other characters, "Our Lady of Bitterness" was Mrs. Procter, "Carrigaholt" was Henry Stuart Burton of Carrigaholt, County Clare.
Procter, called on me a week or more ago, but I happened not to be in the office. Saturday last he called again, and as I had crossed to Rock Park he followed me thither. A plain, middle-sized, English-looking gentleman, elderly, with short, white hair, and particularly quiet in his manners. He talks in a somewhat low tone without emphasis, scarcely distinct.
In this situation a superior force of British and Indians under Procter crossed the lake on the ice and attacked the party thus rashly advanced to Frenchtown, which was compelled to surrender by 8 A.M. of January 22. Winchester had notified Harrison of his proposed action, but not in such time as to permit it to be countermanded.
"Mind what I say," insisted Procter; "Browning will make an enduring name, and add another supremely great poet to England." Procter could sometimes be prompted into describing that brilliant set of men and women who were in the habit of congregating at Lady Blessington's, and I well recollect his description of young N.P. Willis as he first appeared in her salon.
"And was the door unlocked," cried Mrs. Procter. "I thought I attended to the doors and windows right after supper." "The door was unlocked," said the Eagle Man, "and so I took the liberty of coming right in." "I'm glad you did," said Mr. Procter. "Well, I need your help, Richard," said old John Massey in an affectionate tone. "It's ready for you, Mr. Massey," the inventor answered warmly.
He built into a piece of machinery his ideals, and when the machine was finished he saw in his experiments with it on those in his home ultimate triumph. But when it was taken to my mills the machine failed to register color in personalities whose chief talent by years of wrong work had been nearly strangled." Mr. Procter spoke: "It shouldn't have failed even there.
My frailty in publishing a book has, I fear, already hurt me in my profession, and a small sin of this kind would bring on me still deeper disgrace with the solicitors." Twice at least in these early years he travelled. "Mr. Kinglake," writes Mrs. Procter in 1843, "is in Switzerland, reading Rousseau." And in the following year we hear of him in Algeria, accompanying St.
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