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The Federal troops were utterly unfitted for offensive movement, and both Scott and McDowell had protested against an immediate advance. The regiments had only been organised in brigades a week previously. They had never been exercised in mass.
In the case of poets, literary men, and artists, the influence of the mother's feeling and taste has doubtless had great effect in directing the genius of their sons; and we find this especially illustrated in the lives of Gray, Thomson, Scott, Southey, Bulwer, Schiller, and Goethe.
"Just looked in to find out how you were getting on," said he. "Not seen O'Malley already, have you?" "No. But his verdict is a foregone conclusion, so we're going ahead with things. Your wife's not really coming, is she?" "Yes. I did my best to prevent it; but there's no gainsaying her." "Great Scott, she's a plucky woman! You must have plenty to see to both of you.
In a few days after our arrival at Anton Lizardo, an order was issued by General Scott for the transports to move up next morning, towards Vera Cruz, with a view to landing the army on the main shore, opposite the Island of Sacrificios, two or three miles south of the city.
"Mind your eye, Louis!" shouted Scott, as soon as they were in motion. "She may go down at any moment! When I shout to you, back out as fast as you can! I will watch her, and let you know when she is likely to make her last dive!" "Ay, ay!" returned Louis. "I beg you, Captain Scott, not to let them go any farther," said Don very earnestly.
He nodded to Peter then strode over to the bed, where he stood for a moment scowling down at his son, his lower lip caught between his teeth. Douglas opened his eyes. "Douglas," said John hoarsely, "before I go out after Scott, tell me all is straight between you and me. Judith made up, long ago." "That's a whopper!" exclaimed Judith. "I'll never forgive you as long as I live!
She lay on her couch and watched him with shining eyes, telling herself that no prince had ever looked more royal. It was Scott who waited upon her, but she was scarcely aware of his presence. Even Isabel seemed to have faded into the background. She could think only of Eustace lounging near her in careless magnificence, talking in his deep voice of the day's sport.
The historical novel an echo of the great romances of Sir Walter Scott had its cultivators in such writers as Zagoskin and Lazhechnikov; but at the present time, with the exception of the recent productions of Count Tolstoi, it is a form of literature as dead in Russia as in our own country.
"Well, it's not all you've been fed, either, so don't grumble," said the lady, practically. "I think," said Scott, rising, "that before it grows dark I'll investigate this trail a bit. It looks sort of blind to me. If we have to start by moonlight it'll be just as well to have some notion of where to begin." Polly leaned back against a tree and watched him lazily.
"I say, Scott, I'm awfully ashamed of the way that some of us, my family in particular, have treated you within the last day or two. It was confoundedly shabby, and I beg your pardon for my share in it, anyhow." "Don't waste any regrets over that matter," Scott answered, indifferently; "I never gave it any thought, and it is not worth mentioning."
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