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Updated: May 17, 2025
Bryant leaned forward and tapped the banker's desk with a finger-tip. "Mr. Menocal, don't try to start any trouble with me," he said, with jaw a little outthrust. "Dios! You dare talk that way to me?" "I repeat it, don't attempt to keep something that doesn't belong to you. You may want to but don't try it.
About the middle of the next afternoon Lee Bryant was riding southward from camp on the main mesa trail. The road was difficult and his horse Dick made slow time along the snowy path broken by wagons through the drifts, but the rider let the animal choose his own gait, as he had done that hot July day when coming up from the south to buy the Perro Creek ranch. On reaching the ford Lee pulled rein.
"I was not aware that I was making any sacrifice," he coldly answered, and turned away. Mary's lip quivered with internal pain, but she offered no further opposition. All was in readiness for moving on. Dr. Bryant stood arranging Florence's bridle, and bantering her on her inattention to the reins. She laughed in her turn.
Here I saw, during those times, Andrew Jackson, Webster, Clay, Seward, Martin Van Buren, filibuster Walker, Kossuth, Fitz Greene Halleck, Bryant, the Prince of Wales, Charles Dickens, the first Japanese ambassadors, and lots of other celebrities of the time. Always something novel or inspiriting; yet mostly to me the hurrying and vast amplitude of those never-ending human currents.
Now and then a new poem by Whittier, or Bryant, or some other of the small galaxy of poets who justly were becoming the nation's pride, would appear and be read aloud to Mary as she prepared their meals, or washed the dishes or ironed small garments, while Betty listened with intent eyes and ears, as she helped her mother or tended the baby.
Perhaps it should be added, as somewhat significant, that Mr Bryant, the poet, a prominent democrat and editor of the New York Evening Post, has exerted himself in behalf of another memorial to Congress for justice to authors; which is the more observable, because Mr Legget, his late coadjutor and intimate friend, was perhaps the most radical writer on the other side that has ever appeared in this country, and regarded the maintenance of his extraordinary opinions as essential to genuine democracy.
Came on from West Philadelphia, June 13, in the 2 P. M. train to Jersey City, and so across and to my friends, Mr. and Mrs. Two hours before starting, saw the announcement of William Cullen Bryant's funeral, and felt a strong desire to attend. I had known Mr. Bryant over thirty years ago, and he had been markedly kind to me.
Bryant, a friend of mine in Cambridge; and we are going to visit at his house when we leave here." "Have we ever seen him?" asked Marjorie. "Only when you were very small children; not since you can remember. But they are delightful people, and indeed are distant cousins of your mother. I can assure you you'll have a good time at their home."
Bryant has recognized this fact in one of his poems. Our poets are quite apt to get ahead or behind the season with their flowers and birds. It is not often that we catch such a poet as Emerson napping. He knows nature, and he knows the New England fields and woods, as few poets do. One may study our flora and fauna in his pages.
"No; I propose to develop the ranch," the engineer answered, curtly. "Is the release made out? If it is, I'll be on my way." "It's too bad you refuse, too bad," Menocal said, with a lugubrious shake of his head. He called Isidro. The clerk placed a card before Bryant for his signature and gave him a check book.
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