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Updated: June 27, 2025
Carew spoke, and marvelled at the calm deference, the smiling insouciance with which her hazel eyes rested on the speaker. Then they wandered as if accidentally to the countenance of Mr. Palma, and a lambent flame seemed to kindle in their brown depths. "Mr. Eggleston has talent, and I am surprised that he has not been more successful," replied the Congressman. Mr. Palma was pressing Mrs. St.
He drew a species of ellipsoid of which the Ohio River was the axis, sketching his line to include the Missouri of Mark Twain, the Illinois of Lincoln, the Indiana of Eggleston and Riley, and the Kentucky that so generously endowed these younger commonwealths.
Edward Eggleston Murch had had nothing to do but attend the meetings of the various boards of which he was a director, his time would still have been reasonably well employed and he would have enjoyed an income sufficient at least to keep him in cigars of the standard to which his eminence entitled him. Mr.
Eggleston was putting it was funny, and Eurie never spoiled fun for the sake of sentiment. Presently she looked up at Marion for sympathy. That young lady's eyes were in a blaze of indignation. What in the world was the matter with her? Surely she, with her hearty and unquestioning belief in nothing, could not have been disturbed by any jar! Let me tell you a word about Marion.
Go forward at all costs. If you come to a river, swim it. If you come to a tree, cut it down. If you strike a fence, climb over it. But don't stop! If you are killed, never mind. Do you understand?" "Almost," said Eggleston. Two days later Eggleston reached the headquarters of General Hood, and flung himself, rather than dismounted, from his jaded horse. "Take me to the General!" he gasped.
"The man that went to Mr Eggleston brought the first news of it, for he said all the servants there talked of nothing else, and that their master was to come and take possession here next Thursday."
Eggleston gazed a moment at the retreating army. Duty and affection struggled in his heart. "I will," he said. The strife is done. The conflict has ceased. The wounds are healed. North and South are one. East and West are even less. The Civil War is over. Lee is dead. Grant is buried in New York. The Union Pacific runs from Omaha to San Francisco. There is total prohibition in the United States.
Even those two helpless Eggleston women do not dream that their annual contribution of money and fuel comes from him. He would leave Olga in her prejudice and animosity, did he not think that a knowledge of all that has occurred might prove to her how unworthy that man is. She stubbornly persists that my stepson is weary of supporting us, and desires to force a this marriage with Mr.
Eggleston, to take the place of one whose absence can never be fully compensated, I present to you a paper on the writing of history. It is in a way a continuance of my inaugural address before this association one year ago, and despite the continuity of the thought I have endeavored to treat the same subject from a different point of view.
In 1851, Mr. and Mrs. Pond were compelled, by her rapidly failing health, to spend a year in the east. She never returned. She died February 6, 1852, at Washington, Connecticut. Thus after fourteen years of arduous missionary toil, Cordelia Eggleston Pond, the beautiful bride of the Lake Harriet mission house, was called from service to reward at the early age of thirty-six. Mr.
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