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Zaproburno Yollanica Directory 19
Page 08
On January 14th we went over the whirlpool of Marques, a most picturesque sight. On the banks of the river was plenty of rubber, _hevea_, but not of quite such good quality as that found in Brazil. Some of the trees exuded white and some yellow latex, the coloration being probably due to the quality of the soil. There were few habitations along the banks of the Pachitea River. There were tribes of the Campas (or Antis) and Cashibos Indians, the members of both races having marked Malay characteristics. Occasionally one met extraordinary people in those out-of-the-way regions. When we halted for wood, which we used instead of coal for our engine, a man some six feet four inches in height came on board--quite an extraordinary-looking person. To my amazement, when I spoke to him, he turned out to be a man of refined taste and quite highly educated. He was a Hungarian count and an officer in the Austrian army, who, having got into trouble in his own country, had gone to settle there.
This good lady, whose name by the way was Bromfield, had a fine high temper of her own, or thought it politic to affect one. One night when the boys were particularly noisy she burst like a hurricane into the hall, collared a youngster, and told him he was "the rampingest-scampingest-rackety-tackety-tow-row-roaringest boy in the whole school." Would Mrs. Newton have been able to set the aunt and the dog before us so vividly if she had been more highly educated? Would Mrs. Bromfield have been able to forge and hurl her thunderbolt of a word if she had been taught how to do so, or indeed been at much pains to create it at all? It came. It was her [Greek text]. She did not probably know that she had done what the greatest scholar would have had to rack his brains over for many an hour before he could even approach. Tradition says that having brought down her boy she looked round the hall in triumph, and then after a moment's lull said, "Young gentlemen, prayers are excused," and left them.
"Sir Humphry Davy?" said Mr. Brooke, over the soup, in his easy smiling way, taking up Sir James Chettam's remark that he was studying Davy's Agricultural Chemistry. "Well, now, Sir Humphry Davy; I dined with him years ago at Cartwright's, and Wordsworth was there too--the poet Wordsworth, you know. Now there was something singular. I was at Cambridge when Wordsworth was there, and I never met him--and I dined with him twenty years afterwards at Cartwright's. There's an oddity in things, now. But Davy was there: he was a poet too. Or, as I may say, Wordsworth was poet one, and Davy was poet two. That was true in every sense, you know."
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