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Updated: June 19, 2025
The one at this time to Robert Burns was Ellison Begbie, to whom some of his songs are addressed notably Mary Morrison, one of the purest and most beautiful love lyrics ever poet penned. Nothing is more striking than the immense distance between this composition and any he had previously written.
We both turned round. There was the everlasting Mr. Begbie, too eager for the controversy to wait any longer at the gate. The Sergeant wrung my hand, and darted out into the court-yard, hotter still on his side. "Ask him about the moss rose, when he comes back, and see if I have left him a leg to stand on!" cried the great Cuff, hailing me through the window in his turn. "Gentlemen, both!"
A very striking and thoughtful description of some of the work done at one of our London Corps has recently been issued by a well-known writer. I refer to 'Broken Earthenware, by Mr. Harold Begbie. No one can read the book without being impressed by the sense of personal insight which it reveals.
Alison Begbie becomes Mary Morison, and the sentiment, so elegantly turned in prose for her, is thus melodiously transmuted for the lady-loves of all languishing lovers "O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace Wha for thy sake would gladly dee, Or canst thou break that heart of his Wha's only faut is loving thee?
The Umpteenth Battalion took down the leather harness that had adorned its armoury walls for many a year and spent an anxious day fitting it together, Begbie Lyte and the other officers who had volunteered for the front flitting from one group of contestants to another.
In private life he was fond of music, art, and literature; but in public life he was autocratic as a czar and sternly righteous as a prophet. He was a vigilance committee in himself through sheer force of personality. Crime did not flourish where Begbie went. Chinaman or Indian could be as sure of justice as the richest miner in Cariboo.
Begbie, and took up the argument again exactly at the place where it had left off. "This question between us is a question of soils and seasons, and patience and pains, Mr. Gardener. Now let me put it to you from another point of view. You take your white moss rose " By that time, I had closed the door on them, and was out of hearing of the rest of the dispute.
Begbie away! But now you think better of a modern Utopia? Was the lady looking well?" "It was her real self. Yes. Not the broken woman I met in the real world." "And as though she was pining for you." He looks puzzled. "Look there!" I say. He looks.
From hating and fearing him, the camp came almost to worship him. Many are the stories of his circuits. Once a jury persisted in bringing in a verdict of manslaughter in place of murder. 'Prisoner, thundered Begbie, 'it is not a pleasant duty to me to sentence you only to prison for life. You deserve to be hanged.
However, he showed no inclination to man the crater a yawning pit some forty feet in width half-way over to his trench and contented himself with throwing a few bombs into it and covering it with machine-gun fire. In spite of which Begbie Lyte, having now risen to the dizzy height of senior subaltern in the company, took out a small party and filled it with barbed wire.
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