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Updated: May 12, 2025
Then he called a cavalryman from the outpost. "Britton," he said, "show this gentleman in to General Dana's headquarters." Crenshaw lashed his horse and away we went. "That boy thinks he is a guide, not a guard," said he. "You are all right. We can easily get rid of him." This proved true. We stopped by a saloon and bought a bottle of whisky.
For nearly forty days we had uninterrupted favorable winds, being in the "trades," and, having settled down to sailor habits, time passed without notice. We had brought with us all the books we could find in New York about California, and had read them over and over again: Wilkes's "Exploring Expedition;" Dana's "Two Years before the Mast;" and Forbes's "Account of the Missions."
Then he removed something from the apple and placed it in Miss Dana's hand. "Oh, how lovely!" she exclaimed. It was a ring made of the finest gold and containing an immense ruby. "That," said her employer, "I call the Isburn Ruby. It belonged to my mother, and it is precious to me, both on account of its great intrinsic value, and as an heirloom."
There is no sailor whose cockles of the heart will not warm to Dana's description of the first time he sent down a royal yard. Once or twice he had seen it done. He got an old hand in the crew to coach him. And then, the first anchorage at Monterey, being pretty thick with the second mate, he got him to ask the mate to be sent up the first time the royal yards were struck.
Atmananda pulled into one of the driveways, got out of the car, and said, "Here we are." Then he strode down the path as though leading us to his castle. He claimed the master bedroom which overlooked the garden. Dana's was next to his. Then mine. Then Connie's. Then Rachel's. "Welcome to Atmananda's bar and grill," he grinned from behind the kitchen counter, pretending to serve us.
That morning, however, he made several excursions into it, and told me that his youthful satire of the 'Spectre Pig' had been provoked by a poem of the elder Dana's, where a phantom horse had been seriously employed, with an effect of anticlimax which he had found irresistible.
The next day the steam-whistles of the Miantowona Iron Works and Dana's Mills sent the echoes flying beyond that undulating line of pines and hemlocks which half encircles Stillwater, and falls away loosely on either side, like an unclasped girdle. A calm, as if from out the cloudless blue sky that arched it day after day, seemed to drift down upon the village.
"You have done something as unprecedented as what was done to you, did you know that?" Dana's strength was ebbing as the energine wore off, and she wasn't quite sure what her clan-chief meant. "I'm sorry?" Killian laughed aloud. "Why doesn't that surprise me?
Dana's late excellent, though hasty, sketches of the island, that author must have more than common ability who can, with hope of success, venture over the same ground. The Public Life of Captain John Brown. By JAMES REDPATH. With an Autobiography of his Childhood and Youth. Boston. 1860. l2mo. pp. 408. It would have been well, had this book never been written. Mr.
It was published there during the same year, at the suggestion of some of his friends, in a little volume which contained, in addition to the three poems already mentioned, the pleasant pastoral, "Green River," previously contributed to Dana's "Idle Man."
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