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Updated: June 7, 2025
And yet the rabble and the railway folks have insisted on it. Well, now, how grateful you ought to be to the President for ordering us here to help you suppress them! Really, Mr. Elmendorf, I am glad to find we are on the same side of this question, after all." But here a shout of laughter drowned Kenyon's words and drove Elmendorf frantic. "You don't understand," he almost shrieked.
It was a group worthy of a painter's brush, Elmendorf's sublime confidence in the criminality of his fellow-man and the unassailable integrity of his own position, Kenyon's attitude of close and appreciative study of this unique specimen, Cranston's twitching lips and clinching fists, Allison's almost apoplectic face at one moment, contrasting oddly with the infinite consternation with which he contemplated his own probable connection with the plot the next: the speaker was a monument of conceit and "cheek," might even be a lunatic, but what what could be said of himself?
"Miriam, dear friend," replied the sculptor, "if I can help you, speak freely, as to a brother." "Help me? No!" said Miriam. Kenyon's response had been perfectly frank and kind; and yet the subtlety of Miriam's emotion detected a certain reserve and alarm in his warmly expressed readiness to hear her story.
Kenyon and Landor. You remember those pictures in Mr. Kenyon's house in London. Well, he has painted Robert's, and it is an admirable likeness. The expression is an exceptional expression, but highly characteristic. . . . May 19. . . . To leave Rome will fill me with barbarian complacency. I don't pretend to have a ray of sentiment about Rome.
I will tell you more truth in five minutes than you ever heard in your life before. I will tell you, in the first place, that my business is quite as honourable as Kenyon's or Wentworth's. What does Kenyon do but try to get information about mines which other people are vitally interested in keeping from him?
It might be that the reverend kindliness of the old man's expression took Kenyon's heart by surprise; at all events, he spoke as if there were a recognized acquaintanceship, and an object of mutual interest between them. "She has gone from me, father," said he. "Of whom do you speak, my son?" inquired the priest. "Of that sweet girl," answered Kenyon, "who knelt to you at the confessional.
On the evening after Miriam's visit to Kenyon's studio, there was an assemblage composed almost entirely of Anglo-Saxons, and chiefly of American artists, with a sprinkling of their English brethren; and some few of the tourists who still lingered in Rome, now that Holy Week was past.
Dan grinned, and Bryce went on seriously: "I'm afraid you're getting too old to ride the log-carriage, Dan. You've been at it a long time; so, with the utmost good will in the world toward you, you're fired. I might as well tell you now. You know me, Dan. I always did dislike beating about the bush." "Fired!" Dan Kenyon's eyes popped with amazement and horror.
'Better take my way, said Lance, reviving; 'a young man with good references only wants board and lodging. 'It is not possible, Lance. It would not be respectful to the Bishop or the Dean, who have strained a point to keep you. There I hear Mr. Kenyon's voice in the shop. I must go. 'Only one thing, Felix. Will you hear what Jack Harewood says to it? To this Felix readily assented.
Kenyon's friends, and I remain, dear Miss Thomson, Truly yours, and gladly, E.B.B. If there should be anything more at any time for me to do, I trust to your trustfulness. Emil Braun; see the letter of January 9, 1850. To Miss Thomson 50 Wimpole Street: Monday .
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