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Updated: June 19, 2025
The National Observer passed out of Henley's hands and Henley himself into the Valley of the Shadow. Bob Stevenson said his last good-night to us. Beardsley, Harland, Arthur Tomson, George Steevens, Phil May, Furse, Iwan-Müller one after another of our old friends, one after another of those old masters of talk set out on the journey into the Great Silence. It is hard to believe they have gone.
Quick as his approach had been, Henley's next movement was quicker; before the weapon was fairly poised he had knocked it from Bradley's grasp. Contemptuously kicking it out of his reach, Henley gave the man a sharp blow with his fist; and while Bradley was impotently shielding his face with his arms, Henley picked up the revolver, cocked it, and directed it toward him.
Oh! it's natural to you, is it? I see. A thick skin and a slow circulation; you will live to be an old woman. A friend of yours, Miss Henley?" Fanny answered composedly for herself: "I am Miss Henley's maid, sir." "What's become of the other one?" Mr. Vimpany asked. "Aye? aye? Staying at a farm-house for the benefit of her health, is she?
I have also drawn up, and had typed, a brief sketch of young Henley's life, which will aid you in playing the part. You will need a new outfit of clothes, I presume?" "This is my best suit." "I thought it probable. Now, if you will sign this paper, I will hand you a liberal advance." I read it over slowly, but it appeared innocent enough.
There he scribbled some words on a bit of notepaper, wrapped the key in it, and inclosed it in an envelope on which he wrote Henley's name. Then he put on his overcoat, descended the narrow stairs, and opened the front-door. The landlady heard him, and screamed from the basement to know if he would be in to dinner.
I don't know that it's anybody else's business," he went on, after he had stood the broom in a corner and was wiping the top of Henley's desk, "but thar is considerable talk going around that you intend to take a trip to Texas." "I'm thinking seriously of it," Henley admitted. "I've heard of a deal or two in land out there that I want to get a finger in.
"Cause ol' Massa Henley's ghost was hangin' round, sah. I ain't nebber seen it myself, an' I don't want to, for he was sure bad 'nough alive, but dar 's niggers what has." "Oh, pshaw," I laughed, turning toward the silent girl. "We will risk the ghost if you 'll drive us out. Put in the grips." "Yes, sah. I reckon this yere am de new missus." "Yes," and I assisted her into the rear seat.
I can recall but one elderly man Dunn his name was rather silent and full of good sense, an old friend of Henley's. We were young men, none as yet established in his own, or in the world's opinion, and Henley was our leader and our confidant. One evening I found him alone amused and exasperated. He cried: 'Young A... has just been round to ask my advice.
I am told he sang tenor songs, and was wondering whether that was all he could do." "As a fact he played the banjo and the guitar," said Watson, "but he has not done so in Fairtown. The people here are high-class people, and we have to vary our performance to suit our audiences. At Brighton, where we go next week, Henley's banjo playing might have been the most popular item on the program."
Henley's Pagan resistance to Puritan morality and convention, constantly exhibited positively in his verse, and negatively in his defiant Introduction to the Works of Burns and in the famous paper on R. L. S., is the main characteristic of his mind and temperament. He was by nature a rebel a rebel against the Anglican God and against English social conventions.
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