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Updated: June 25, 2025
The old order will return," and the earth held its breath at threat of eternal darkness, the one I loved seemed to approach in the long shadows. It was a sign that out of the worst comes the best. But it was a terror to the unprepared; and Pastor Storrs preached about it the following Sunday.
Everything, however, was at sixes and sevens and it was only after a long and toilsome search, that the regimental quartermaster was located among the trains. My horse, equipments and arms had disappeared, but fortunately Storrs found his outfit intact and, having two mounts, he loaned me one.
"God bless my soul! what shall I do, Mr. Storrs?" The young man's thick lip and thicker eyelid drooped. He laughed, and whispered a word or two. "Yes," gruffly, being reassured. "There's a policeman outside. Joe, take her out, give her in charge to him." The negro motioned her before him with a billet of wood he held. She laughed. Her laugh had gained her the name of "Devil Lot."
I met Storrs many times, and he was always not only charming but fascinating. He was very witty, full of anecdotes, and told a story with dramatic effect. Except for his eccentricities he might have taken the highest place in his profession. As it was, he acquired such fame that an admirer has written a very good biography of him.
When Storrs and I rode into that silvan camp, on that bright October morning, there were less than 100 men "present for duty" including not a single field officer. Many of the troops were commanded by lieutenants, some of them by sergeants, and one had neither officer nor non-commissioned officer.
Yet one fancied, if this girl's soul were let loose, it would utter a madder cry than any fiend in hell. "Do you mean to employ me?" biting her finger-ends until they bled. "Don't be foolish, Charlotte," whispered Storrs. "You may be thankful you're not sent to jail instead. But sing for him. He'll give you something, may-be."
Nevertheless, doubt was mingled with determination in his florid face as he rang the bell. Bartholomew Storrs opened to us, himself. When he saw me, he hastily pocketed a Rhyming Dictionary. I introduced my companion, stating, by way of a favorable opening, that he was interested in memorial poetry. "Very pleased," said Bartholomew Storrs in his deep, lugubrious tones. "Bereaved husband?" Mr.
I want you to know the real men of the West, the captains of industry who have created this city, built our railroads, and made the Great West what it is." Coleridge replied that he did not want to go outside bar associations, and he could not think of making another speech in Chicago. Storrs assured him it would be purely a private affair and no speeches permitted.
While the fame of its editors, Henry Ward Beecher, Joseph P. Thompson and Richard Salter Storrs, went far and wide, not a little of the success of the paper was due to his general management, and to his hearty indorsement of the position of his editors, however radical they were indeed the more radical the better.
Behind the coffin walked the members of His family, the British High Commissioner, Sir Herbert Samuel, the Governor of Jerusalem, Sir Ronald Storrs, the Governor of Phoenicia, Sir Stewart Symes, officials of the government, consuls of various countries resident in Haifa, notables of Palestine, Muslim, Jewish, Christian and Druze, Egyptians, Greeks, Turks, Arabs, Kurds, Europeans and Americans, men, women and children.
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