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Updated: May 14, 2025
And thus it has been said in verse: No iron-stained hand is fit to handle books, Nor he whose heart on gold so gladly looks: The same men love not books and money both, And books thy herd, O Epicurus, loathe; Misers and bookmen make poor company, Nor dwell in peace beneath the same roof-tree. No man, therefore, can serve both books and Mammon.
On the southern side of Edgehill there had been cut out of the red iron-stained rock of a projecting cliff a huge red horse, as a memorial of the great Earl of Warwick, who before a previous battle had killed his horse and vowed to share the perils of the meanest of his soldiers.
And she would skip about and fetch me things and laugh at my tales of life in Philadelphia. But, beneath her gaiety, I fancy that there lurked some terrors. I remember one day, when she was just eighteen, during one of her father's rare visits to Europe, we were sitting in the gardens, near the iron-stained fountain.
On one side towered the iron-stained cliff, not smooth or glistening at close range, but of dull, dead, rotting rock. The trail changed to a zigzag along a seamed and cracked buttress where ledges leaned outward waiting to fall. Then a steeper incline, where the burros crept upward warily, led to a level ledge heading to the left. Mescal halted on a promontory.
One iron-stained misshapened hand lay on the outside of the coverlet and as Adams looked at it, he saw in it a symbol of the whole tragedy upon which he gazed.
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