The founders of a new colony, whate

The founders of a new colony, whatever Utopia of human virtue and happiness they might originally project, have invariably recognised it among their earliest practical necessities to allot a portion of the virgin soil as a cemetery, and another portion as the site of a prison. In accordance with this rule it may safely be assumed that the forefathers of Boston had built the first prison-house somewhere in the Vicinity of Cornhill, almost as seasonably as they marked out the first burial-ground, on Isaac Johnson'out his grave, which subsequently became the nucleus of all the congregated sepulchres in the old churchyard of King's Chapel. Certain it is that, some fifteen or twenty years after the settlement of the town, the wooden jail was already marked with weather-stains and other indications of age, which gave a yet darker aspect to its beetle-browed and gloomy front. The rust on the ponderous iron-work of its oaken door looked more antique than anything else in the New World. Like all that pertains to crime, it seemed never to have known a youthful era. Before this ugly edifice, and between it and the wheel-track of the street, was a grass-plot, much overgrown with burdock, pig-weed, apple-pern, and such unsightly vegetation, which evidently found something congenial in the soil that had so early borne the black flower of civilised society, a prison. But on one side of the portal, and rooted almost at the threshold, was a wild rose-hush, covered, in this month of June, with its delicate gems, which might be imagined to offer their fragrance and fragile beauty to the prisoner as he went in, and to the condemned criminal as he came forth to his doom, in token that the deep heart of Nature could pity and be kind to him.

This rose-bush, by a strange chance, has been kept alive in history; but whether it had merely survived out of the stern old wilderness, so long after the fall of the gigantic pines and oaks that originally overshadowed it, or whether, as there is far authority for believing, it had sprung up under the footsteps of the sainted Ann Hutchinson as she entered the prison-door, we shall not take upon us to determine. Finding it so directly on the threshold of our narrative, which is now about to issue from that inauspicious portal, we could hardly do otherwise than pluck one of its flowers, and present it to the reader. It may serve, let us hope, to symbolise some sweet moral blossom that may be found along the track, or relieve the darkening close of a tale of human frailty and sorrow

ผลลัพธ์ (อังกฤษ) 2:

The founders of a new colony, whatever Utopia of human virtue and happiness they might originally project, have invariably recognised it among their earliest practical necessities to allot a portion of the virgin soil as a cemetery, and another portion as the site of a prison. In accordance with this rule it may safely be assumed that the forefathers of Boston had built the first prison-house somewhere in the Vicinity of Cornhill, almost as seasonably as they marked out the first burial-ground, on Isaac Johnson'out his grave,. which subsequently became the nucleus of all the congregated sepulchres in the old churchyard of King's Chapel. Certain it is that, some fifteen or twenty years after the settlement of the town, the wooden jail was already marked with weather-stains and other indications of age, which gave a yet darker aspect to its beetle-browed and gloomy front. The rust on the ponderous iron-work of its oaken door looked more antique than anything else in the New World. Like all that pertains to crime, it seemed never to have known a youthful era. Before this ugly edifice, and between it and the wheel-track of the street, was a grass-plot, much overgrown with burdock, pig-weed, apple-pern, and such unsightly vegetation, which evidently found something congenial in the soil that. had so early borne the black flower of civilised society, a prison. But on one side of the portal, and rooted almost at the threshold, was a wild rose-hush, covered, in this month of June, with its delicate gems, which might be imagined to offer their fragrance and fragile beauty to the prisoner as. He went in, and to the Criminal condemned as He Came forth to his Doom, Deep in the Heart of Nature token that could be Pity and Kind to Him.

This Rose-Bush, by Strange a Chance, has been kept Alive in history; but whether it had merely survived out of the stern old wilderness, so long after the fall of the gigantic pines and oaks that originally overshadowed it, or whether, as there is far authority for believing, it had sprung up under the footsteps of the sainted. Ann Hutchinson as she entered the prison-door, we shall not take upon us to determine. Finding it so directly on the threshold of our narrative, which is now about to issue from that inauspicious portal, we could hardly do otherwise than pluck one of its flowers, and present it to the reader. It may serve, let us hope, to symbolise some sweet moral blossom that may be found along the track, or relieve the darkening close of a tale of human frailty and sorrow.

ผลลัพธ์ (อังกฤษ) 3:

The founders of a new colony whatever Utopia, of human virtue and happiness they might originally project have invariably,, Recognised it among their earliest practical necessities to allot a portion of the virgin soil as a cemetery and another,, Portion as the site of a prison. In accordance with this rule it may safely be assumed that the forefathers of Boston had. Built the first prison-house somewhere in the Vicinity, of Cornhill almost as seasonably as they marked out the, first burial-ground. On Isaac Johnson 'out his grave which subsequently, became the nucleus of all the congregated sepulchres in the old churchyard. Of King 's Chapel. Certain it, is that some fifteen or twenty years after the settlement of, the town the wooden jail was. Already marked with weather-stains and other indications, of age which gave a yet darker aspect to its beetle-browed and. Gloomy front. The rust on the ponderous iron-work of its oaken door looked more antique than anything else in the New, World. Like all that pertains, to crime it seemed never to have known a youthful era. Before this ugly edifice and between, it. And the wheel-track of the street was grass-plot, a, overgrown much with burdock pig-weed apple-pern,,, such and unsightly. Vegetation which evidently, found something congenial in the soil that had so early borne the black flower of civilised. Society a, prison. But on one side of, the portal and rooted almost at the threshold was a, wild rose - hush covered in,,, This month, of June with its delicate gems which might, be imagined to offer their fragrance and fragile beauty to the prisoner. As he went in and to, the condemned criminal as he came forth to his doom in token, that the deep heart of Nature could. Pity and be kind to him.This rose-bush by a, strange chance has been, kept alive in history; but whether it had merely survived out of the stern. Old wilderness so long, after the fall of the gigantic pines and oaks that originally overshadowed it or whether as there,,, Is far authority for believing it had, sprung up under the footsteps of the sainted Ann Hutchinson as she entered, the prison-door. We shall not take upon us to determine. Finding it so directly on the threshold of, our narrative which is now about to. Issue from that inauspicious portal we could, hardly do otherwise than pluck one of, its flowers and present it to the reader.? It may serve let us, hope to symbolise, some sweet moral blossom that may be found along the track or relieve, the darkening. Close of a tale of human frailty and sorrow.