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Updated: June 13, 2025
Nor is there any lack of feathered people. The golden eagle may be seen, and the osprey, hawks, jays, humming-birds, the mourning-dove, and cheery familiar singers the black-headed grosbeak, robin, bluebird, Townsend's thrush, and many warblers, sailing the sky and enlivening the rocks and bushes through all the cañon wilderness.
S. R. Maitland, that when the Religious Tract Society published an edition of the Acts and Monuments in 1877, mainly from the stereotype plates of that of 1853, they thought it prudent to omit that part altogether, Dr. Stoughton, one of the honorary secretaries of the Society, substituting an Introduction, a work which is, however, as much open to criticism as Townsend's.
Townsend's most uncompromising foe for many years had been the Rev. Bernard M'Carthy, the parish priest for the same parish of Drumbarrow. Father Bernard, as he was called by his own flock, or Father Barney, as the Protestants in derision were delighted to name him, was much more a man of the world than his Protestant colleague. He did not do half so many absurd things as did Mr.
'Well, I didn't call Dilly a beast. I haven't broken Miss Townsend's rules. She made a new rule I wasn't to call her a beast before breakfast 'What, you're allowed to call her these awful names after breakfast? 'No. She made a rule before breakfast I wasn't to call Dilly a beast, and I haven't. How did you know it meant her anyway? It might have meant somebody else.
Wandering listlessly, he went on further and further from the camp, never dreaming of what lay before him, or of the wild sweet destiny to which that dim Indian trail was leading him through the shadowy wood. Lewis and Clark. See Parkman's "Oregon Trail," also, Parker's work on Oregon. See Townsend's Narrative, pages 182-183.
It was almost dark before they left Berryhill, and then they had to go out of their way to pick up Aunt Letty at Mr. Townsend's house. "Don't go in whatever you do, girls," said Herbert; "we should never get away." "Indeed we won't unpack ourselves again before we get home; will we, Clara?" "Oh, I hope not. I'm very nice now, and so warm. But, Mr. Fitzgerald, is not Mrs. Townsend very queer?"
Townsend's retirement. Before I proceed to describe the task I set myself in The Spectator when I obtained a free hand, and to record my journalistic aims and aspirations, I desire to describe Mr. Townsend a man whose instinctive genius for journalism has, to my mind, never been surpassed. Taking The Spectator as the pivot of my life, I began this book by a plunge in medias res.
"Nor I, either," said the time serving Fisher, sidling up to the manager, and picking the ice off a piece of plum-cake, "nor I either; I hate puns. I can never understand Townsend's PUNS. Besides, anybody can make puns; and one doesn't want wit, either, at all times; for instance, when one is going to settle about dinner, or business of consequence.
You have present opportunity to secure the services of young Nelson, down at the Wide-Awake, as a receiving teller. He is fast and accurate in money matters. The young lady that compiled Mr. Townsend's reports can, and should, take care of the growing bookkeeping. You will not make a great deal of money in this first year of operation.
See Townsend's Narrative, pages 137, 138. Both Lewis and Clark and Ross Cox substantiate his description; indeed, very much the same thing can be seen at the Tumwater Fishery to-day. See Bancroft's Native Races, article "Columbians." A bunch of arrows so poisoned is in the Museum of the Oregon State University at Eugene. Irving's "Astoria," chap. xli.
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