Penny Dreadfuls, 1895 · page 18 of 215
A Daughter of Maryland — page 18: what you’re looking at
A restored page from Penny Dreadfuls, 1895. Page through the whole issue in the reader above.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
nin ~ oo. OF b. See ee Ose a ig 1 Se SL Pee ge”, LS ts, eet ow a aes ER NE ate aa yee Ogi be eta pawl 2 ED ae ey GRP eet RON ORO Rime oo) AtRy i ees . * « 7 "rr 7 ~ - Ae - ‘ ret. - i "9% ¢ ; ' = > on ‘ o> 3: So 3 roth . _ ve rae. Vie * a oe ; %} rr . -) we tor a ng’ PF j ~ x * 2 = Tha naglly® : a A ag i : a mak 2 oh I San? { . . a * “ames ee, pres FO oe a vg * ae x i | : A DAUGHTER OF MARYLAND. 3 his head the while in the direction of the imaginary retreat, the smile on his features was succeeded by their habitual gloom, and he left the place with the slow, uncer- tain steps of one who is blind, though feeling his way along the rugged pathway with the surety of him who is familiar with every crook and obstacle in his course. Reaching the mountain road at the foot of the declivity, he moved on toward the open country at a rapid gait, without turning his head to the right or left, the sound of his foot- steps deadened by the sand of the highway. Emboldened by the silence, the squirrel peered out from his covert. Seeing his natural enemy disappearing in the distance, he began anew his sportive faces, his joy soon doubled by the appearance of his mate. The defiant chatter of this twain, the signal for the wildwood singer to resume his lay, the coppice again rang with the melody of innocent song; the bee once more flitted furiously to and fro with his steady buzzing; while far up on the hazy sky the hawk descended into a lower and smaller orbit of flight. Unmindful of the humbler parts played around him, the sightless sentinel continued to plod along the dusty road, past broken-down fences and disordered fields, past deserted houses where everything was in ruins, past a colony of negro huts overhung with an air of desolation, past a vast estate of the colonial cra, the grand old mansion of its whilom owner looming up in a gloomy silence at the end of a wide driveway bordered with a double colonnade of trees now decimated by the ruthless ax of him who had felled them to build a breastwork before the door of the aban- doned home—past all this vividly pictured to his mind’s eye, his halting steps finally bringing him to the doorway of a plain dwelling standing near the edge of a fragment of woods. Here he paused, casting his first backward glance, while he said in a dreary monotone: ‘‘Not forever this darkness; not forever this desolation ; to the brave belong the honors, to the loyal the reward. ’’ Wag | oF | comicbooks.co ‘*. .s 5 - . Se OET, I a. Ee fF