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8 shows a tracing from the utterance of the word incomprehensibility, with different degrees of effort. It will be noticed that while a certain variation occurs due to the energy, each sound preserves a specific character. Fig. 6259 shows in the upper portion the effect of words of quantity which require a large volume of air, and are maintained a relatively longer time than the more explosive or intense kind. The lower diagram is what the tracer wrote when the familiar stanza from Hohenlinden was repeated. A much more delicate instrument for obtaining sonorous vibrations has been made by Professor A. Graham Bell and Clarence J. Blake, M. D., of Boston, Mass. (June, 1874), by using the membrana tympani of the human ear as a phonautograph. Dr. Blake's mode of exposing the middle ear without injuring the ossiculae or the delicate tympanic membrane is described at length in the Boston Medical and surgical journal, February 4, 1875, pages 121-123. The stapes was removed, and
L. P. Brockett, The camp, the battlefield, and the hospital: or, lights and shadows of the great rebellion, Part 2: daring enterprises of officers and men. (search)
iled to develop the heavy metal of the enemy. The dull fringe of the hill kindles with the flash of great guns. I count the fleeces of white smoke that dot the Ridge, as battery after battery opens upon our line, until from the ends of the growing arc they sweep down upon it in mighty Xs of fire. I count till that devil's girdle numbers thirteen batteries, and my heart cries out, Great God, when shall the end be! There is a poem I learned in childhood, and so did you: it is Campbell's Hohenlinden. One line I never knew the meaning of until I read it written along that hill! It has lighted up the whole poem for me with the glow of battle forever: And louder than the bolts of heaven, Far flashed the red artillery. At this moment, General Granger's aides are dashing out with an order; they radiate over the field, to left, right, and front; Take the Ridge if you can --Take the Ridge if you can --and so it went along the line. But the advance had already set forth without it
iled to develop the heavy metal of the enemy. The dull fringe of the hill kindles with the flash of great guns. I count the fleeces of white smoke that dot the Ridge, as battery after battery opens upon our line, until from the ends of the growing arc they sweep down upon it in mighty Xs of fire. I count till that devil's girdle numbers thirteen batteries, and my heart cries out, Great God, when shall the end be! There is a poem I learned in childhood, and so did you: it is Campbell's Hohenlinden. One line I never knew the meaning of until I read it written along that hill! It has lighted up the whole poem for me with the glow of battle forever: And louder than the bolts of heaven, Far flashed the red artillery. At this moment, General Granger's aides are dashing out with an order; they radiate over the field, to left, right, and front; Take the Ridge if you can --Take the Ridge if you can --and so it went along the line. But the advance had already set forth without it
using violence and seldom force with tolerably unruly subjects. He played with us either romping games when small, or games of skill when older. He could not assist us much in our studies, but encouraged us in competitions in penmanship, he being the umpire. Rarely he read aloud to us, but he frequently recited favorite verses, like Derzhavin's Ode to the Deity, in Bowring's translation, Byron's apostrophe to the Ocean in Childe Harold, Cowper's I would not have a slave, or Campbell's Hohenlinden—with stock repetitions of My name is Norval; or sang (with dance accompaniment) Of all the little boys [girls] I know, There is none like my——y. At table, his hands prepared the food for us, and later for his grandchildren—our mother's broken arm excusing Ante, 3.84. her; and when urged by her to satisfy his own hunger, he would protest: I must scratch gravel for my little chickens first. When we were sick, he provided the invalid meal, with the instinct and tenderness of a nurse.
to be cured in collation of it. He did not scorn success obtained in the most irregular manner. He made break neck marches through the show, and fought battles when the thermometer was below zero Washington had winter quarters, such as they were, because Howe and Clinian had New York and Philadelphia, and he was obliged to watch them and keep them in check. Had he possessed the means of attacking them. he would have paid no respect to winter quarters as he showed at Trenton and Ponleton During the wars of the French Revolution operations never stopped for the winter innumerable great battles were fought in the dead of winter; as, for instance, Arcole, Rivoli, Hohenlinden, Austerlitz, Eylan, Cormuns, the Beresina, La Rothiere, Brienne, Orthes, Tonlouse, &c. The retreat of Sir John Moore took place in the depth of winter and Mantusa surrendered in February.--In fact the leaders of that day paid no respect to seasons and no respect, as far as we can see, has been paid to them since.
rried on in the midst of winter, and and in defiance of the severity of climates far more rigorous than any to be encountered on this side of the Potomac. In our own history we have a salient example in the daring passage of the Delaware by Washington and the brilliant victory of Trenton. The wars of the French Revolution; and of the Empire, furnish two remarkable instances in the winter operations of Moreau among the defiles of the Black Forest, terminating with the splendid victory of Hohenlinden; and in Napoleon's remarkable campaign amidst the snows of Poland — a campaign illustrated by that tremendous conflict where thirty thousand dead men lay around the trenches of Dylan, reddening the whitened earth with their blood. The winter march of Arnold against Quebec, through the wilds of Canada; the splendid and romantic combats of Massena with the Russians among the mountains of Switzerland; the unparalleled retreat of McDonald across the glaciers of the Alps; and, to go back
It appears that Thomas Campbell sent his beautiful poem, "Hohenlinden," commencing, "On Linden when the sun was low," to a Scotch editor, who said, in his notices to correspondents, "T. C.'s lines are not up to our standard. Poetry is evidently not T. C's forte."