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You've heard of Richard Randle Rox? He died; they put him in a box, and lowered him into a grave, and said: "He'll surely now behave." For years this fertile Richard penned books, rhymes and essays without end.
It is dangerous to tamper with so great a work, and he who does so runs a great risk of burning his fingers. England has been less daring, and her modesty and discretion have brought her success. But, before speaking of Urquhart's translation, it is but right to mention the English-French Dictionary of Randle Cotgrave, the first edition of which dates from 1611.
Now the next Andrew Randle, you are a new man, I hear. How come you to leave your last farm?" "P-p-p-p-p-pl-pl-pl-pl-l-l-l-l-ease, ma'am, p-p-p-p-pl-pl-pl-pl-please, ma'am-please'm-please'm " "'A's a stammering man, mem," said Henery Fray in an undertone, "and they turned him away because the only time he ever did speak plain he said his soul was his own, and other iniquities, to the squire.
And you say you're innocent good?... When you refused to leave him!" "I was afraid to go afraid you'd be killed," she moaned, beating her breast. It must have seemed madness to him, a monstrous nightmare, a delirium of drink, that Joan Randle was there on her knees in a brazen male attire, lifting her arms to him, beseeching him, not to spare her life, but to believe in her innocence.
Joan Randle rode on and on, through the canon, out at its head and over a pass into another canon, and never did she let it be possible for Kells to see her eyes until she knew beyond peradventure of a doubt that they hid the strength and spirit and secret of her soul. The time came when traveling was so steep and rough that she must think first of her horse and her own safety.
"What will you do, Jim?" she asked, mockingly. "I'll shake this camp. I'll rustle for the border. I'll get in with Kells and Gulden... You'll hear of me, Joan Randle!" These were names of strange, unknown, and wild men of a growing and terrible legion on the border. Out there, somewhere, lived desperados, robbers, road-agents, murderers.
Both young Denison, the supercargo of five-and-twenty, and Randle, the grizzled wanderer and veteran of sixty-five, had known many tragedies during their career in the Pacific; but the story of this half-blind, crippled old woman, when he learnt it in full, appealed strongly to the younger man, and was never forgotten in his after life.
"Can you write me down on a bit of paper where she is?" "Oh, yes, sir." And the girl very civilly and readily wrote in her best round hand, on a slip of bill-paper, this address: "Martha Peckover, at Rob: Randle, 2 Dawson's Buildings, Bangbury." Mat absently took the slip of paper from her, and put it into his pocket; then thanked the girl, and went out.
Captain Benjamin Hugér, Chief, with siege train. First-Lieutenant Peter Valentine Hugner. Second-Lieutenant George Thom. Brevet Second-Lieutenant E.L.F. Hardcastle. Captains James R. Irwin, Chief; Abraham C. Myers, Robert Allen, Henry Constantine Wayne, Justus McKinstry, George W.F. Wood, J. Daniels, O'Hara, Samuel McGowan. Captain John Breckinridge Grayson, Chief. Captain Thomas P. Randle.
Oh the pain the pain! And I can't stand pain! You you girl! You innocent seventeen-year-old girl! You that couldn't hurt any creature! You so tender so gentle!... Bah! you fooled me. The cunning of a woman! I ought to know. A good woman's more terrible than a bad woman.... But I deserved this. Once I used to be.... Only, the torture!... Why didn't you kill me outright?... Joan Randle watch me die!
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