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Updated: June 24, 2025
To us, some of those wildest "Rob the Ranter" bursts of blackguardism are most deeply mournful, hardly needing that the sympathies which they stir up should be heightened by the little scraps of prayer and bitter repentance, which lie up and down among their uglier brethren, the disjecta membra of a great "De Profundis," perhaps not all unheard. These latter pieces are most significant.
My brother whispered to me that he was no Friend, but a noted ranter, a noisy, unsettled man.
'I guess you KNOW why he sent some people to Ekaterinburg a couple of days before the Czecho-Slovaks are scheduled to take it, and I guess you know too how it happened that so many MOTOR TRUCKS came all the way from Archangel to Ekaterinburg so as to be on hand when a certain Indian officer shows up, the ridiculous ranter raved.... But...."
I take reproof badly, and age has hardly tamed me to it. "No good with whom?" I asked, smiling. "The Duke of York? My Lord Arlington? Or do you mean the Duke of Monmouth? It is he whom I have to please now." "None of them love Ranters," answered Darrell, keeping his face stiff and inscrutable. "But one of them may prefer a Ranter to a Papist," laughed I. The thrust told, Darrell grew red.
Gherardi glanced him up and down, and then turned from him in disgust as from something infected by a loathly disease. "Prince Sovrani!" he said. "I cannot condescend to converse with a street ranter, such as this misguided person, who has most regrettably obtained admission to your house and society!
"Madge," said Ratcliffe, "hae ye ony joes now?" "An ony body ask ye, say ye dinna ken. Set him to be speaking of my joes, auld Daddie Ratton!" "I dare say, ye hae deil ane?" "See if I haena then," said Madge, with the toss of the head of affronted beauty "there's Rob the Ranter, and Will Fleming, and then there's Geordie Robertson, lad that's Gentleman Geordie what think ye o' that?"
They have an hour's start, and we have a longer distance to go; so double your legs under you, my boy, and go." Toby rising to the occasion, and the spirit of old Ranter proving true, he broke into the long even gallop that makes the miles pass swiftly. It was a race against time, against James Rodolph and his crew.
In less time than I can tell of it, the Ranter dripped from head to foot; the black stuff poured from his hemp-like hair, from his ears; it oozed down his neck, it even ran through to his boots; and when his enemy could no longer wield the brush from fatigue, he emptied the bucket on the man's head as a last triumphant vindication of his strength.
The fielder got the ball fairly in his hands, but whether he was nervous, or whether the ball had such speed that it tore through, was not apparent. At any rate, he muffed the fly. "Good-night!" "That settles it!" "Go on, Ranter! Go on, Cooney!" Coaches, the captain, Princeton players and the crowd of Tiger sympathizers were wildly calling to the two runners. And indeed they were coming on.
Having been bred a Dissenter, and not being over-familiar with the Established Church service, Mr. Hogarth's famous picture of "Morning," and as if my Lady Lydia had been accustomed to have a chaplain all her life. She seemed to patronise not only the new chaplain, but the service and the church itself, as if she had never in her own country heard a Ranter in a barn.
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