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Updated: June 12, 2025
Larcom knew very well; and now they turned and walked slowly side by side along the broad walk by that perpendicular wall of crisp brown leaves, he recognised also a certain hitch in his shoulder, which made him swear and asseverate again. He would have given something to hear what was passing.
From the shadow of a bunch of huckleberry bushes by the path a lithe figure soared lightly aloft, a furry paw swept across, and that June bug was knocked into the vaguely definite locality known as the "middle of next week." Martha uttered a little scream. "Goodness gracious me!" she exclaimed. "Lucy Larcom, you bad cat, how you did scare me!"
Before the Pornellite could recover from his astonishment, Sam was pelting up the field with all the nimbleness of his agile legs. "Hurrah for Sam Rover!" "Great Caesar! see him leg it! They can't catch him!" "There he goes over the line!" "A touchdown! The game is a tie!" "Quick, fellows!" cried Sam. "Only five more minutes, remember. Who is to kick?" It was a player named Larcom.
'I will be firm it is my duty to clear this matter up, if I can we must do as we would be done by. It was still early in the day. Larcom received him gravely in the hall. Captain Lake was at home, as usual, up to one o'clock in the library the most diligent administrator that Brandon had perhaps ever known. 'Well, Larkin letters, letters perpetually, you see. Quite well, I hope?
The family, according to their custom, had sought their slumbers early; and the great old house was perfectly still. One pair, at least, of eyes, however, were wide open; one head busy; and one person still in his daily costume. This was Mr. Larcom the grave major domo, the bland and attached butler. He was not busy about his plate, nor balancing the cellar book, nor even perusing his Bible.
Yet the writing in the Operatives' Magazine+ and the Lowell Offering+ was as good as that now appearing in periodicals, in some respects superior, being the free, unpaid and spontaneous utterances of the human heart. It is mentioned with praise in Emerson's Dial+. One of our sweetest New England poets, Lucy Larcom, began her career as a writer in them.
Not of his music could Lucy Larcom say, as she so happily does of our bird of the meadow, "Sounds the meadow-lark's refrain Just as sad and clear." Nor could his sonorous song be characterized by Clinton Scollard's exquisite verse, "From whispering winds your plaintive notes were drawn."
I thought of what my vision said of the 'blood upon my forehead, and, by Jove! there it was! At this moment the large white Marseilles waistcoat of grave Mr. Larcom appeared, followed by a tall powdered footman, and their candles and business-like proceedings frightened away the phantoms. So I withdrew to my chamber, where, I am glad to say, I saw nothing of Uncle Lorne.
He had abundance of matter for thought and perturbation, and felt himself, when the images of Larcom, Larkin, and Jim Dutton crossed the retina of his memory, some thrill of the fear which 'hath torment' the fear of a terrible coercion which he liked so well to practise in the case of others.
Just as grave Mr. Larcom had ended the perusal of this bulletin, he heard a light step on the stair, at the end of the passage, which made his manly heart jump unpleasantly within his fat ribs. He thrust the unfolded letter roughly into the very depths of his breeches pocket, and blew out both candles; and then listened, as still as a mouse.
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