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    I remember meeting one of these men late at night wandering along the Thames Embankment. In the course of my conversation with him I asked him, among other things, if he voted, and, if so, to what political party he belonged.

    I was pushing forward, moved by the impulse to press that hand, when his wife went up to him. Though I was not far off I could not hear what she said; people did not speak loud in those days, or “make scenes,” and the two or three words which issued from Mrs. Delane’s lips must have been inaudible to everyone but her husband. On his dark face they raised a sudden redness; he made a motion of his free arm (the other hand still on the poney’s neck), as if to wave aside an importunate child; then he felt in his pocket, drew out a cigarette, and lit it. Mrs. Delane, white as a ghost, was hurrying back to Alstrop’s coach.

    One day he and his wife and their children were asked to the wedding of a friend about four miles off; and James Lynan rode to the place, the family going on their own car. At the wedding he was the life of the party as he always was; but never a drop of drink touched his lips. When evening came on, the family set out for the return home just as they had set out; the wife and children on the car, James Lynan riding his own horse. But when the wife arrived at home, she found her husband’s horse standing at the gate riderless and quite still. They thought he might have fallen in a faint, and went back to search; when he was found down in a hollow not five perches from his own gate, lying quite insensible and his features distorted frightfully, as if seized while looking on some horrible vision.

    Still, more and more folks went to Ken-tuc-ky. Of these, in 1778, were A-bra-ham Lin-coln and his wife, Ma-ry Ship-ley Lin-coln. With them were their three boys, Mor-de-cai, Jo-si-ah and Thom-as, the last a babe in the arms of his moth-er.

    “Oh, a sort of big backwoodsman who was awfully good to me when I was in hospital ... after Bull Run....”




    His mind returned again to the statesman, Themistocles. He had been the last person to see Ladice alive, and it was known for certain that she was among those who ascended the Acropolis with Kyrsilus. Although it was first reported that all of that brave little band had been slaughtered, rumor had been rife that some of the younger women had been spared—but only to meet a worse fate; that of captivity in the harems of the Persians. If that had been Ladice’s fate, far better that she had met death with the others on the Acropolis! But Ladice did not love him. Oh, the sting of that realization! Ladice knew of the wild life that he had led and of the drunken orgies in which he had participated. Perhaps it was presumptuous for him to think with love upon a girl of such stainless character as Ladice, but had he not vowed by all the gods that he would live an upright life and had he not kept that vow for nearly four years?

    Almost involuntarily he said: "I'd give anything for a peg!"

    "Why a week?" she replied doubtfully.



    But all this time the fairies were not idle; for it was at this very season of dances and festivals, when the mortals around them were happiest, that Finvarra the king and his chosen band were on the watch to carry off the prettiest girls to the fairy mansions.




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