the wares o’ me, and thou hast eat therefrom. Yea, and thou hast
spat that which thou did’st eat, and eat it o’er. And yet thou art
not afulled.
“Hark! Here be a trick that shall best thee at thine own trick. Lo,
thou lookest upon flesh and it be but flesh. Yea, thou lookest unto
thy brother, and see but flesh. And yet thy brother speakest word,
and thou sayest: ‘Yea, this is a man, aye, the brother o’ me.’ Then
doth death lay low thy brother, and he speak not word unto thee,
thou sayest: ‘Nay, this is no man; nay, this is but clay.’ Then
lookest thou unto thy brother, and thou seest not the him o’ him.
Thou knowest not the him o’ him (the soul) but the flesh o’ him
only.
“More I tell thee. Thy very babe wert not flesh; yea, it were as
dead afore the coming. Yet, at the mother’s bearing, it setteth
within the flesh. And thou knowest it and speak, yea, this is a man.
And yet I tell thee thou knowest not e’en the him o’ him! Then doth
it die, ’tis nay man, thou sayest. Yet, at the dying and afore the
bearing, ’twer what? The him o’ him wert then, and now, and ever.
“Yea, I speak unto thee not through flesh, and thou sayest: This is
no man, yea, for thine eyes see not flesh, yet thou knowest the me
o’ me, and I speak unto thee with the me o’ me. And thou art where
upon thy path o’ learning!”
There was some discussion following this argument in which Dr. X.
admitted that he accepted only material facts and believed but what he
saw.
_Patience._—“Man maketh temples that reach them unto the skies, and
yet He fashioneth a gnat, and where be man’s learning!
“The earth is full o’ what the blind in-man seeth not. Ope thine
eye, lad. Thou art athin dark, and yet drink ye ever o’ the light.”
_Dr. X._—“That’s all right, Patience, and a good argument; but tell
me where the him o’ him of my dog is.”
_Patience._—“Thou art ahungered for what be thine at the hand o’
thee. Thy dog hath far more o’ Him than thy brothers who set them as
dogs and eat o’ dog’s eat. The One o’ One, the All o’ All, yea, all
o’ life holdeth the Him o’ Him, thy Sire and mine! ’Tis the breath
o’ Him that pulses earth. Thou asketh where abides this thing.
Aneath thy skull’s arch there be nay room for the there or where o’
this!”
Miss J. then took the board and Patience said:
“She taketh it she standeth well athin the sight o’ me that she
weareth the frock o’ me.”
This caused a laugh, for it was then explained by the visitors that Miss
J. had chosen to wear a frock somewhat on the Puritan order, having a
gray cape with white cuffs and collar, and had said she thought Patience
would approve of it.
_Patience._—“Here be a one aheart ope, and she hath the in-man who
she proddeth that he opeth his eyes. Yea, she seest that which be
and thou seest not.”
It was remarked that Patience was evidently trying to be very nice to
Miss J.
_Patience._—“Nay, here be a one who tickleth with quill, I did hear
ye put. Think ye not a one who putteth as me, be not a love o’ me?
Yea, she be. And I tell thee a something that she will tell unto ye
is true. Oft hath she sought for word that she might put, and lo,
from whence she knoweth not it cometh.”
Miss J. said this was true.
_Patience._—“Shall I then sing unto thee, wench?”
Miss J. expressed delight, and the song followed.
Ah, how do I to build me up my song for thee?
Yea, and tell unto thee of Him.
I’d shew unto thee His loving,
I’d shew unto thee His very face.
Do then to list to this my song.
Early hours, strip o’ thy pure,
For ’tis the heart of Him.
Earth, breathe deep thy busom,
Yea, and rock the sea,
For ’tis the breath of Him.
Fields, burst ope thy sod,
And fling thee loose thy store,
For ’tis the robe of Him.
Skies, shed thou thy blue,
The depth of heaven,
For ’tis the eyes of Him.
Winter’s white, stand thou thick
And shed thy soft o’er earth,
For ’tis the touch of Him.
Spring, shed thou thy loosened
Laughter of the streams,
For ’tis the voice of Him.
Noon’s heat, and tire o’ earth,
Shed thou of rest to His,
For ’tis the rest of Him.
Evil days of earth,
Stride thou on and smite,
For ’tis the frown of Him.
Earth, this, the chant o’ me,
May end, as doth the works o’ man,
But hark ye; Earth holdeth all
That hath been;
And Spring’s ope, and sowing
O’ the Winter’s tide,
Shall bear the Summer’s full
Of that that be no more.
For, at the waking o’ the Spring,
The wraiths o’ blooms agone
Shall rise them up from out the mould
And speak to thee of Him.
Thus, the songs o’ me,
The works o’ thee,
The Earth’s own bloom,
Are HIM.
The interest of Dr. X. in this phenomenon brought an eminent
psychologist, associated with one of the greatest state universities in
the country, some distance from Missouri, for an interview with
Patience. He shall be known here as Dr. V. With him and Dr. X. was Dr.
K., a physician. Dr. V. sat at the board first, and Patience said to
him:
“Here be a one, verily, that hath a sword. Aye, and he doth to wrap
it o’er o’ silks. Yea, but I do say unto thee, he doth set the cups
o’ measure at aright, and doth set not the word o’ me as her ahere
(Mrs. Curran). Nay, not till he hath seen and tasted o’ the loaf o’
me; and e’en athen he would to take o’ the loaf and crumb o’ it to
bits and look unto the crumb and wag much afore he putteth. And he
wilt be assured o’ the truth afore the putting.”
This was discussed as a character delineation.
_Patience._—“I’d set at reasoning. Since the townsmen do fetch
aforth for the seek o’ me, and pry aneath the me o’ me, then do thou
alike. Yea, put thou unto me.”
_Dr. V._—“Why fear Death?”
_Patience._—“Thou shouldst eat o’ the loaf (her writings). Ayea,
’tis right and meet that flesh shrinketh at the lash.”
Dr. V. was told of her poems on the fear of death.
_Dr. V._—“What do you think of the attempts to investigate you? Is it
right?”
_Patience._—“Ayea. And thou hast o’ me the loaf o’ the me o’ me, and
thou hast o’ it afar more than thou hast o’ thy brother o’ earth,
and yet they seek o’ me and seek ever.”
_Dr. V._—“Have you ever lived?”
_Patience._—“What! Think ye that I be a prater o’ thy path and ne’er
atrod? Then thou art afollied, for canst thou tell o’ here?”
_Dr. V._—“When did you live on earth?”
_Patience._—“A seed aplanted be watched for grow. Ayea, but the seed
held athin the palm be but a seed, and Earth hath seeds not aplanted
that she casteth forth, e’en as she would to cast forth me, do I not
to cloak me much.”
_Dr. V._—“I understand; but can you not answer a little clearer the
question I put?”
_Patience._—“The time be not ariped for the put o’ this.”
_Dr. V._—“What does Lethe mean?”
_Patience._—“This be a tracker! Ayea, ’tis nay a word o’ thy day or
yet the word o’ thy brother, that meaneth unto me. I be a maker o’
loaf for the hungered. Eat thou. ’Tis not aright that thou shouldst
set unto the feast athout thou art fed.”
By this she seemed to mean that she wanted him to read her writings and
see what it is she is endeavoring to do. She continued:
“Brother, this be not a trapping o’ thy sword, the seeking o’ me.
Nay, ’tis ahind a cloak I do for to stand, that this word abe, and
not me.”
Mr. Curran here stated that this had ever been so; that Patience had
obscured herself so that her message could not be clouded.
_Patience._—“Aright. I do sing.
Gone! Gone! Ayea, thou art gone!
Gone, and earth doth stand it stark.
Gone! Gone! The even’s breath
Doth breathe it unto me
In echo soft; yea, but sharped,
And cutting o’ this heart.
Gone! Gone! Aye, thou art gone!
The day is darked, and sun
Hath sorried sore and wrapped him in the dark.
Gone! Gone! This heart doth drip o’ drops
With sorry singing o’ this song.
Gone! Gone! Yea, thou art gone!
And where, beloved, where?
Doth yonder golden shaft o’ light
That pierceth o’ the cloud
Then speak unto this heart?
Art thou athin the day’s dark hours?
Hast thou then hid from sight o’ me,
And yet do know mine hour?
Gone! Gone! What then hath Earth?
What then doth day to bring
To this the sorry-laden heart o’ me,
That weepeth blood drops here?
Gone! Gone! Yea, but hark!
For I did trick the sorry, loved;
For where e’er thou art am I.
Yea, this love o’ me shall follow thee
Unto the Where, and thou shalt ever know
That though this sorry setteth me
I be where’er thou art.”
After this Dr. K., who resides in St. Louis, took the board.
_Patience._—“Here abe a townsman. Aye, a Sirrah who knoweth men and
atruth doth ne’er acloak the blade o’ him as doth brother ayonder.
Ayea, ahind a chuckle beeth fires.
“There abe weave ’pon the cloth o’ me, yea, but ’tis nay ariped the
time that I do weave. Yea, thou hast a pack o’ tricks. Show unto me,
then, thine.”
Here Dr. V. asked: “Do you know Dr. James?”
This referred to the late Dr. William James, the celebrated psychologist
of Harvard.
_Patience._—“I telled a one o’ the brothers and the neighbors o’ thy
day, and he doth know.”
She had given such an answer to a frequent visitor who had inquired as
to her knowledge of several eminent men long since dead. It was
considered an affirmative answer.
_Dr. V._—“Have you associated with Dr. James?”
_Patience._—“Hark! Unto thee I do say athis; ’tis the day’s break
and Earth shall know, e’en athin thy day, much o’ the Here.
“This, the brother o’ ye, the seeker o’ the Here, hath set a promise
so, and ’tis for to be, I say unto thee. Thou knowest ’tis the word
o’ him spaked in loving. Yea, for such a man as the man o’ him wert,
standeth as a beacon unto the Here.”
_Dr. V._—“Could Dr. James, by seeking as you did, communicate with
someone here as you are doing?”
_Patience._—“This abe so; he who seeketh abe alike unto thee and
thee. Ayea, thee and thy brother do set forth with quill, and thou
dost set aslant, and with thy hand at the right o’ thee. And thy
brother doth trace with the hand at the left of him. And ’tis so,
thou puttest not as him. This, the quill o’ me, be for the put o’
me, and doth he seek and know the trick o’ tricks o’ sending out a
music with the quill o’ me, it might then be so.”
This was interpreted as meaning that if Dr. James could find one who had
the conditions surrounding Mrs. Curran, and was able to master the
rhythm which Patience uses to give the matter to her, then he could do
it.
When the record of the foregoing interview was being copied, Mrs. Curran
felt an impulse to write. Taking the board, Patience indicated that she
had called, and at once set forth, apparently for Dr. V., the following
explanation of her method of communication and the principle upon which
it is based:
_Patience._—“Aye, ’tis a tickle I be. Hark, there be a pulse—Nay,
she (Mrs. Curran) putteth o’ the word! Alist.—There abe a throb;
yea, the songs o’ Earth each do throb them, like unto the throbbing
o’ the heart that beareth them. Yea, and there be a kinsman o’ the
heart that beareth them. Yea, and there be a kinsman o’ thee who
throbbeth as dost thou. Yea, and he knoweth thee as doth nay brother
o’ thee whose throb be not as thine. So ’tis, the drop that falleth
athin the sea, doth sound out a silvered note that no man heareth.
Yet its brother drops and the drop o’ it do to make o’ the sea’s
voice. Aye, and the throb o’ the sea be the throb o’ it. So, doth
thy brother seek out that he make word unto thee from the Here, he
then falleth aweary. For thee of Earth do hark not unto the throb.
And be the one aseeked not attuned unto the throb o’ him he findeth,
’tis nay music. So ’tis, what be the throb o’ me and the throb o’
her ahere, be nay a throb o’ music’s weave for him aseek.
“I tell thee more. The throb hath come unto thy day long and long.
Yea, they be afulled o’ throb, and yet nay man taketh up the
throbbing as doth the sea. The drop o’ me did seek and find, and
throb met throb o’ loving. Yea, and even as doth the sea to throb
out the silvered note o’ drop, even so doth she to throb out the
love o’ me.”
This seems, in effect, a declaration that communications of this
character are a matter of attunement, possible only between two natures
of identical vibrations, one seeking and the other receptive. It
indicates too that her rhythmical speech has an influence upon the
facility of her utterances. At another time she described her own
seeking in this verse:
How have I sought!
Yea, how have I asought,
And seeked me ever through the earth’s hours,
Amid the damp, cool moon, when winged scrape
Doth sound and cry unto the day
The waking o’ the hosts!
Yea, and ’mid the noon’s heat,
When Earth doth wither ’neath the sun,
And rose doth droop from sun’s-kiss,
That stole the dew; and ’mid the wastes
O’ water where they whirl and rage,
And seeked o’ word that I
Might put to answer thee.
Ayea, from days have I then stripped
The fulness of their joys, and pryed
The very buds that they might ope for thee.
Aye, and sought the days apast,
That I might sing them unto thee.
And ever, ever, cometh unto me
Thy song o’ why? why? why?
And then, lo, I found athin this heart
The answer to thy song.
Aye, it chanteth sweet unto this ear,
And filleth up the song.
Do hark thee, hark unto the song,
For answer to thy why? why? why?
I sing me Give! Give! Give!
Aye, ever Give!
When the foregoing verse was received, Dr. X. was again present, this
time with his wife and two physicians, Dr. R. and Dr. P. It will have
been observed that many doctors of many kinds have “sat at the feet” of
Patience Worth, but all, as I have said, have come as the friends of
friends of Mrs. Curran, upon her invitation, or upon that of Mr. Curran.
On this occasion Patience began:
“They do seek o’ me, ever; that they do see the pettiskirt o’ me,
and eat not o’ the loaf! (More interested in the phenomenon than the
words.) Ayea, but he ahere (Dr. R.) hath a wise pate. Aye, he
seeketh, and deep athin the heart o’ him sinketh seed o’ the word o’
me. Aye, even though he doth see the me o’ me athrough the sage’s
eye o’ him, still shall he to love the word o’ me.”
After due acknowledgments from Dr. R., she continued:
“Yea, brother, hark unto the word o’ me, for thou dost seek amid the
fields o’ Him! Aye, and ’tis, thou knowest, earth’s men that be afar
amore awry athin the in-man than in the flesh. And ’tis the in-man
o’ men thou knowest.”
Dr. R., a neurologist, gave hearty assent.
“Put thou unto me. (Question me.) ’Tis awish I be that ye weave.”
_Dr. R._—“Do you see through Mrs. Curran’s eyes and hear through her
ears?”
_Patience._—“Even as thou hast spoke, it be. Aye, and yet I say me
’tis the me o’ me that knoweth much she heareth and seeth not.”
Then to a question had she ever talked before with anyone, she said:
“Anaught save the flesh o’ me.”
“Fetch ye the wheel,” she commanded, “that I do sit and spin.”
This was one of her ways of saying that she desired to write on her
story, and she dictated several hundred words of it, after which Dr. P.
took the board and she said:
“What abe ahere? A one who seeth sorry and maketh merry! Yea, a one
who leaveth the right hand o’ him unto its task, and setteth his
left at doing awry o’ the task o’ its brothers. Aye, he doeth the
labors o’ his brother, aye, and him. Do then, aweave.”
In compliance some more of the story was written, and then Dr. R.
“wondered” why he could not write for Patience, to which she answered:
“Hark unto me, thou aside. Thou shalt put (say) ’tis her ahere
(_i.e._, Mrs. Curran, who does it); ayea, and say much o’ word, and
e’en set down athin thy heart thy word o’ what I be, and yet I tell
thee, I be me! Aye, ever, and the word o’ me shall stand, e’en when
thou and thou art ne’er ahere!
“E’en he who doth know not o’ the Here hath felt the tickle o’ my
word, and seeketh much this hearth.
“Then eat thee well and fill thee up, and drink not o’ the brew o’
me and spat forth the sup. Nay, fill up thy paunch. ’Twill merry
thee!”
Dr. P. asked her a question about her looks.
“’Tis a piddle he putteth,” she said.
* * * * *
And now we come to a sitting of a lighter character. There were present
at this Dr. and Mrs. D., Mr. and Mrs. M. and Mrs. and Miss G.
“Aflurry I be!” cried Patience. “Aye, for the pack o’ me be afulled
o’ song and weave, and e’en word to them ahere.
“Yea, but afirst there be a weave, for the thrift-bite eateth o’
me.” (The bite of her thrifty nature.)
Some of the story followed and then she said to Mrs. M., who sat at the
board:
“Here be aone who doth to lift up the lid o’ the brew’s pot, that
she see athin! Aye, Dame, there abe but sweets athin the brew for
thee. Amore, for e’en tho’ I do brew o’ sweets and tell unto thee, I
be a dealer o’ sours do I to choose! Ayea, and did I to put the
spatting o’ thee athin the brew, aye verily ’twould be asoured a
bit!” Then deprecatingly: “’Tis a piddle I put!
“Yea, for him aside who sitteth that he drink o’ this brew do I to
sing; fetch thee aside, thee the trickster o’ thy day!”
There being so many “tricksters” in the room, they were at a loss to
know which one she meant. Mr. C. asked if she meant Dr. D., but Patience
said:
“Thinkest thou he who setteth astraight the wry doth piddle o’ a
song? Anay, to him who musics do I to sing.”
This referred to Mr. G., who is a musician and a composer, and he took
the board. Patience at once gave him this song:
Nodding, nodding, ’pon thy stem,
Thou bloom o’ morn,
Nodding, nodding to the bees,
Asearch o’ honey’s sweet.
Wilt thou to droop and wilt the dance o’ thee,
To vanish with the going o’ the day?
Hath the tearing o’ the air o’ thy sharped thorn
Sent musics up unto the bright,
Or doth thy dance to mean anaught
Save breeze-kiss ’pon thy bloom?
Hath yonder songster harked to thee,
And doth he sing thy love?
Or hath he tuned his song of world’s wailing o’ the day?
Doth morn shew thee naught save thy garden’s wall
That shutteth thee away, a treasure o’ thy day?
Doth yonder hum then spell anaught,
Save whirring o’ the wing that hovereth
O’er thy bud to sup the sweet?
Ah, garden’s deep, afulled o’ fairies’ word,
And creeped o’er with winged mites,
Where but the raindrops’ patter telleth thee His love—
Doth all this vanish then, at closing o’ the day?
Anay. For He hath made a one who seeketh here,
And storeth drops, and song, and hum, and sweets,
And of these weaveth garland for the earth.
From off his lute doth drip the day of Him.
Patience then turned her attention to Mr. M., saying:
“Ayea, he standeth afar from the feasting place and doth to smack
him much!”
Mr. M. took the board, and she began to talk to him in an intimate way
about the varying attitudes of people toward her and her work, and what
they say of her:
“I be a dame atruth,” she said, “and I tell thee the word o’ wag
that shall set thy day, meaneth anaught but merry to me. Hark! I put
a murmur o’ thy day, for at the supping o’ this cup the earth shall
murmur so:
“’Tis but the chatter o’ a wag! Aye, the putting o’ the mad! ’Tis
piddle! Yea, the trapping o’ a fool! Yea, ’tis but the dreaming o’
the waked! Aye, the word o’ a wicked sprite! Yea, and telleth naught
and putteth naught!
“And yet, do harken unto me. They then shall seek to taste the brew
and sniff the whiffing o’ the scent; ayea, and stop alonger that
they feast! And lo, ’twill set some asoured, and some asweet; aye
and some, ato (too), shall fill them upon the words THEY do to put
o’ me, and find them filled o’ their own put, and lack the room for
eat o’ the loaf o’ me. ’Tis piddle, then! Aye, and yet I say me so,
’tis bread, and bread be eat though it be but sparrows that do seek
the crumb. Then what care ye? For bake asurely shall be eat!”
This is a point she often makes, and strives earnestly to impress—that
whatever she may be, whatever the world may think she is, there is
substance in her words. It is bread, and will be eaten, if only by the
sparrows. So, she is content. She has put this thought, somewhat
pathetically, into the little verse which follows:
Loth as Night to dark o’ Day,
Loth do I to sing.
Aye, but doth the Day aneed a song,
’Tis they, o’ Him,
The songsters o’ the Earth,
Do sing them on, to Him.
What though ’tis asmiled? And what
Though ’tis nay aseeked o’ such a song?
Aye, what though ’tis sung ’mid dark?
’Tis I would sing,
Do thee to list, or nay.
“I be a dame who knoweth o’ the hearth. Aye, and do to know o’ the
hearts o’ men,” she said to Mrs. D., who next took the place with Mrs.
Curran. “Ayea, and do to put o’ that athin the hearts o’ them that doth
tickle o’ their merry! This be a tale for her ahere.”
THE STORY OF THE HERBS
“Lo, there wert a dame and her neighbor’s dame and her neighbor’s
dame. And they did to plant them o’ their gardens full. And lo, at a
day did come unto the garden’s ope a stranger, who bore him of a
bloom-topped herb. And lo, he spaked unto the dame who stood athin
the sun-niche that lay at the garden’s end, and he did tell unto her
of the herb he bore. And lo, he told that he would give unto her one
of these, and to her neighbor dame a one, atoo (also), and to her
neighbor dame a one atoo, and he then would leave the garden’s place
and come at the fulling o’ the season-tide when winter’s bite did
sear, and that he then would seek them out, and they should shew
unto him the fulling o’ the herb.
“And lo, he went him out unto the neighbor’s dame and telled unto
her the same, and to her neighbor’s dame the same, and they did seek
one the other and tell o’ all the stranger had told unto them. And
each had sorry, for feared ’twer the cunger o’ the wise men, and
each aspoke her that she would to care and care for this the herb he
did to leave, and that she would have at the fulling o’ the season
the herb that stood at the fullest bloom. And each o’ the dames did
speak it that this herb o’ her should be the one waxed stronger at
the fulling. And lo, none told unto the other o’ how this would to
be.
“And lo, the first o’ dames did plant her herb adeep and speak
little, and lo, her neighbor dames did word much o’ the planting,
and carried drops from out the well that the herbs might full. And
lo, they did pluck o’ the first bud that them that did follow should
be afuller. And lo, the dame afirst o’ the garden the stranger did
to seek, did look with sunked heart at the thriving o’ the herbs o’
the neighbor dames. And lo, she wept thereon, and ’twer that her
well did dry, and yet she seeked not the wells of her sisters. Nay,
but did weep upon the earth about the herb, and lo, it did to spring
it up. And lo, she looked not with greed upon her sister’s herb;
nay, for at the caring for the bloom, lo, she loved its bud and wept
that she had nay drop to give as drink unto it.
“And lo, at a certain day the stranger came and did seek the dames,
and came him unto her garden where the herb did stand, and he bore
the herbs of her sisters, and they wert tall and full grown and
filled o’ bloom. And he did to put the herb o’ her sisters anext the
herb o’ her, and lo, the herb o’ her did spring it up, and them o’
her sisters shrunked to but a twig. And he did call unto the dames
and spake:
“‘Lo, have ye but fed thy herb that it be full o’ bloom, that thou
shouldst glad thee o’er thy sister? And lo, the herb o’ her hath
drunked her tears shed o’ loving, and standeth sweet-bloomed from
out the tears o’ her.’
“And lo, the herb did flower aneath their very eyes. And lo, the
flowering wert fulled o’ dews-gleam, and ’twer the sweet o’ her
heart, yea, the dew o’ heaven.”
Following this pretty parable someone spoke of a newspaper article that
had appeared that day, and Patience remarked:
“’Tis a gab o’ fool. Aye, and the gab o’ fool be like unto a spring that
be o’erfull o’ drops, ’tis ne’er atelling when it breaketh out its
bounds.”
With this sage observation she dismissed the “fool” as unworthy of
further consideration, and gave this poem:
Do I to love the morn,
When Earth awakes, and streams
Aglint o’ sun’s first gold,
As siren’s tresses thred them through the fields;
When sky-cup gleameth as a pearl;
When sky-hosts wake, and leaf bowers
Wave aheavied with the dew?
Do I to love the eve,
When white the moon doth show,
And frost’s sweet sister, young night’s breath,
Doth stand aglistened ’pon the blades;
When dark the shadow deepeth,
Like to the days agone that stand
As wraiths adraped o’ black
Along the garden’s path;
When sweet the nestlings twitter
’Neath the wing of soft and down
That hovereth it there within
The shadows deep atop the tree?
Do I to love the mid-hours deep—
The royal color o’ the night?
For earth doth drape her purpled,
And jeweled o’er athin this hour.
Do I to love these hours, then,
As the loved o’ me?
Nay, for at the morn,
Lo, do I to love the eve!
And at the eve,
Lo, do I to love the morn!
And at the morn and eve,
’Tis night that claimeth me.
A little of the reasoning of Patience upon Earth questions may
appropriately come in here. The Currans, with a single visitor, had
talked at luncheon of various things, beginning with music and ending
with capital punishment, the latter suggested by an execution which at
the moment was attracting national attention. When they took the board,
after luncheon, Patience said: