Hendrik Von Bloom was a boor. My young English reader, do not suppose that I mean any disrespect to Mynheer Von Bloom, by calling him a "boor." In our good Cape colony a "boor" is a farmer. It is no reproach to be called a farmer. Von Bloom was one-a Dutch farmer of the Cape-a boor. The boors of the Cape colony have figured very considerably in modern history. Although naturally a people inclined to peace, they have been forced into various wars, both with native Africans and Europeans; and in these wars they have acquitted themselves admirably, and given proofs that a pacific people when...
Hendrik Von Bloom was a boor. My young English reader, do not suppose that I mean any disrespect to Mynheer Von Bloom, by calling him a "boor." In our...
Boy reader, I am told that you are not tired of my company. Is this true? "Quite true, dear Captain, -quite true " That is your reply. You speak sincerely? I believe you do. In return, believe me, when I tell you I am not tired of yours; and the best proof I can give is, that I have come once more to seek you. I have come to solicit the pleasure of your company, -not to an evening party, nor to a ball, nor to the Grand Opera, nor to the Crystal Palace, nor yet to the Zoological Gardens of Regent's Park, -no, but to the great zoological garden of Nature. I have come to ask you to accompany me...
Boy reader, I am told that you are not tired of my company. Is this true? "Quite true, dear Captain, -quite true " That is your reply. You speak since...
The "vulture of the sea," borne upon broad wing, and wandering over the wide Atlantic, suddenly suspends his flight to look down upon an object that has attracted his attention. It is a raft, with a disc not much larger than a dining-table, constructed out of two small spars of a ship, -the dolphin-striker and spritsail yard, -with two broad planks and some narrower ones lashed crosswise, and over all two or three pieces of sail-cloth carelessly spread.
The "vulture of the sea," borne upon broad wing, and wandering over the wide Atlantic, suddenly suspends his flight to look down upon an object that h...
The white-headed eagle, soaring above the spray of a Tennessean forest, looks down upon the clearing of the squatter. To the eye of the bird it is alone visible; and though but a spot in the midst of that immense green sea, it is conspicuous by the colour of the trees that stand over it. They stand, but grow not: the girdling ring around their stems has deprived them of their sap; the ivory bill of the log-cock has stripped them of their bark; their leaves and twigs have long since disappeared; and only the trunks and greater branches remain, like blanched skeletons, with arms upstretched to...
The white-headed eagle, soaring above the spray of a Tennessean forest, looks down upon the clearing of the squatter. To the eye of the bird it is alo...
Father of Waters I worship thy mighty stream As the Hindoo by the shores of his sacred river, I kneel upon thy banks, and pour forth my soul in wild adoration Far different are the springs of our devotion. To him, the waters of his yellow Ganges are the symbols of a superstitious awe, commingled with dark fears for the mystic future; to me, thy golden wares are the souvenirs of joy, binding the present to the known and happy past. Yes, mighty river I worship thee in the past. My heart fills with joy at the very mention of thy name
Father of Waters I worship thy mighty stream As the Hindoo by the shores of his sacred river, I kneel upon thy banks, and pour forth my soul in wild...
