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Updated: June 26, 2025
These various studies and experiments, all entered into with unequalled spirit and audacity, led up finally to the great work of Frank Buckland's life, which was the restocking of the watercourses of his own and other countries with the trout and salmon which had once teemed in them, but had been driven away by man's encroachments.
For many years the mother was kept in alternation between hopes and fears, pride and disapproval, the old hereditary habits of mind, and a new order of ideas which could only be admitted with the utmost slowness. Buckland's Radicalism deeply offended her; she marvelled how such depravity could display itself in a child of hers.
An equally ardent sympathy with Frank Buckland's specialty was necessary to his friends while he was alive, and is required by those who read this delightful, bizarre, and admirable history of a man whose fellow-feeling for all creatures endowed with life was as broad and comprehensive as Dame Nature's for all her children. He had, it might seem, no antipathies.
Sidwell gave the same explanation as to her mother, and had further to reply that she alone received the caller. 'I see, was Buckland's comment. Its tone troubled Sidwell. 'Has your coming anything to do with Mr. Peak? 'Yes, it has. I want to see him the first thing to-morrow. 'Can you tell me what about? He searched her face, frowning. 'Not now. I'll tell you in the morning.
I think Johnston was killed by exposing himself in front of his troops, at the time of their attack on Buckland's brigade on Sunday morning; although in this I may be mistaken. My division was made up of regiments perfectly new, nearly all having received their muskets for the first time at Paducah.
And Frank Buckland's life was by far too rich and too many-sided to allow anything less than his full history to give an adequate idea of his patience, his fidelity of purpose, his love of work, and his joy in accomplishment. The birthday entries in his diary almost invariably disclose his satisfaction and comfort in his own life and endeavors: "December 17, 1870. My birthday.
I understand that you spoke with him after Buckland's call at his lodgings ? 'Yes, I saw him. 'And he strove to persuade you that he had some motive which justified his conduct? 'Excused, rather than justified. 'Not it seems to your satisfaction? 'I can't answer that question, father. My experience of life is too slight.
With an insignificant word or two, the young man swallowed his cup of coffee, and had soon left the house. The wrath which illumined Buckland's countenance as he strode rapidly towards Longbrook Street was not unmingled with joy. In the deep pocket of his ulster lay something heavy which kept striking against his leg, and every such contact spurred him with a sense of satisfaction.
On Friday the 4th, the day of Buckland's advance, I was very much injured by my horse falling with me, and on me, while I was trying to get to the front where firing had been heard. The night was one of impenetrable darkness, with rain pouring down in torrents; nothing was visible to the eye except as revealed by the frequent flashes of lightning.
You wish to represent that this attack on M'Naughten involves no attack on Christianity? 'Not on Christianity as I understand it. Buckland's face expressed profound disgust, but he controlled his speech. 'Well, I foresaw this. You attacked a new sophistry, but there is a newer sophistry still, and uncommonly difficult it is to deal with. Mr. Peak, I have a plain word to say to you.
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