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When Ultor De Lacy died, his daughter Alice found among his effects a small box, containing a portrait such as I have described. When she looked on it, she recoiled in horror. There, in the plenitude of its sinister peculiarities, was faithfully portrayed the phantom which lived with a vivid and horrible accuracy in her remembrance.

Meanwhile his Majesty grew more and more gracious, looking now on her and now on the carmen, and nodded with especial kindness towards the end, which was as follows: Tempus erit, quo tu reversus ab hostibus ultor Intrabis patriae libera regna meae; Tunc meliora student nostrae tibi carmina musae, Tunc tua, maxime rex, Martia facta canam.

Idem tamen benignus Ultor retundit iram, Paucosque non piorum Patitur perire in aevum, that divers men believed in his time that the number of those wicked enough to be damned would be very small. To some indeed it seems that men believed at that time in a sphere between Hell and Paradise; that this same Prudentius speaks as if he were satisfied with this sphere; that St.

Pugatscheff replied by another manifesto, declaring himself the Czar, Peter III., and threatening vengeance against all who resisted his just claims. He also caused coin to be impressed with his effigy, and the inscription "Redivivus et Ultor." In the meantime he continued to lay siege to Orenburg and Ufa. But Bibikoff was not a man to remain inactive, and lost no time in attacking him.

But the impartial historian owes a duty likewise to obscure merit, and my solicitude to render a tardy justice is perhaps quickened by my having known those who, had their own field of labour been less secluded, might have found a readier acceptance with the reading publick. I could give an example, but I forbear: forsitan nostris ex ossibus oritur ultor.

He retired, became a poor hanger-on of the Court of St. Germains, and died early in the eighteenth century as well as I remember, 1705 leaving an only son, hardly twelve years old, called by the strange but significant name of Ultor. At this point commences the marvellous ingredient of my tale.

When Alice reached his side, his drawn sword still in his hand, he was in a state of abject agitation. "Thank Heaven, he's gone!" she exclaimed. "He's gone," echoed Ultor, with a strange glare. "And you are safe," she added, clasping his hand. He sighed a great sigh. "And you don't think he's coming back?" "He! who?" "The stranger who passed us but now. Do you know him, father?"

I was content with what I knew, and have here related as clearly as I could, and I think it a very pretty puzzle as it stands. Ultor De Lacy: A Legend of Cappercullen The Jacobite's Legacy In my youth I heard a great many Irish family traditions, more or less of a supernatural character, some of them very peculiar, and all, to a child at least, highly interesting.

More important yet the insignia of the triumph, which had always been in the keeping of the Capitoline Juppiter even before he was Optimus Maximus and while he was only the "Striker," Feretrius, were now preserved in the temple of Mars Ultor.

England, the old victorious island kingdom, bequeathed to us by Raleigh, Drake, Nelson; the nineteenth-century England of triumphant commercialism; England till then inviolate for a thousand years; rich and powerful beyond all other lands; broken now under the invader's heel that ancient England slept. Exoriare aliquis de nostris ex ossibus ultor. The river glideth at his own sweet will.