Restrained Maidens


  • Characterized by reserve or moderation; unemotional or dispassionate
  • cool and formal in manner
  • moderate: marked by avoidance of extravagance or extremes; “moderate in his demands”; “restrained in his response”
  • under restraint
  • (of color, clothes, decoration, etc.) Understated and subtle; not excessively showy or ornate
  • Kept under control; prevented from freedom of movement or action


  • A virgin
  • An over in which no runs are scored
  • maiden over: (cricket) an over in which no runs are scored
  • (maiden) maid: an unmarried girl (especially a virgin)
  • (maiden) inaugural: serving to set in motion; “the magazine’s inaugural issue”; “the initiative phase in the negotiations”; “an initiatory step toward a treaty”; “his first (or maiden) speech in Congress”; “the liner’s maiden voyage”
  • A girl or young woman, esp. an unmarried one

restrained maidens

Chief Seattle

Chief Seattle
Yonder sky that has wept tears of compassion upon my people for centuries untold, and which to us appears changeless and eternal, may change. Today is fair. Tomorrow it may be overcast with clouds. My words are like the stars that never change. Whatever Seattle says, the great chief at Washington can rely upon with as much certainty as he can upon the return of the sun or the seasons. The white chief says that Big Chief at Washington sends us greetings of friendship and goodwill. This is kind of him for we know he has little need of our friendship in return. His people are many. They are like the grass that covers vast prairies. My people are few. They resemble the scattering trees of a storm-swept plain. The great, and I presume — good, White Chief sends us word that he wishes to buy our land but is willing to allow us enough to live comfortably. This indeed appears just, even generous, for the Red Man no longer has rights that he need respect, and the offer may be wise, also, as we are no longer in need of an extensive country.

There was a time when our people covered the land as the waves of a wind-ruffled sea cover its shell-paved floor, but that time long since passed away with the greatness of tribes that are now but a mournful memory. I will not dwell on, nor mourn over, our untimely decay, nor reproach my paleface brothers with hastening it, as we too may have been somewhat to blame.

Youth is impulsive. When our young men grow angry at some real or imaginary wrong, and disfigure their faces with black paint, it denotes that their hearts are black, and that they are often cruel and relentless, and our old men and old women are unable to restrain them. Thus it has ever been. Thus it was when the white man began to push our forefathers ever westward. But let us hope that the hostilities between us may never return. We would have everything to lose and nothing to gain. Revenge by young men is considered gain, even at the cost of their own lives, but old men who stay at home in times of war, and mothers who have sons to lose, know better.

Our good father in Washington–for I presume he is now our father as well as yours, since King George has moved his boundaries further north–our great and good father, I say, sends us word that if we do as he desires he will protect us. His brave warriors will be to us a bristling wall of strength, and his wonderful ships of war will fill our harbors, so that our ancient enemies far to the northward — the Haidas and Tsimshians — will cease to frighten our women, children, and old men. Then in reality he will be our father and we his children. But can that ever be? Your God is not our God! Your God loves your people and hates mine! He folds his strong protecting arms lovingly about the paleface and leads him by the hand as a father leads an infant son. But, He has forsaken His Red children, if they really are His. Our God, the Great Spirit, seems also to have forsaken us. Your God makes your people wax stronger every day. Soon they will fill all the land. Our people are ebbing away like a rapidly receding tide that will never return. The white man’s God cannot love our people or He would protect them. They seem to be orphans who can look nowhere for help. How then can we be brothers? How can your God become our God and renew our prosperity and awaken in us dreams of returning greatness? If we have a common Heavenly Father He must be partial, for He came to His paleface children. We never saw Him. He gave you laws but had no word for His red children whose teeming multitudes once filled this vast continent as stars fill the firmament. No; we are two distinct races with separate origins and separate destinies. There is little in common between us.

To us the ashes of our ancestors are sacred and their resting place is hallowed ground. You wander far from the graves of your ancestors and seemingly without regret. Your religion was written upon tablets of stone by the iron finger of your God so that you could not forget. The Red Man could never comprehend or remember it. Our religion is the traditions of our ancestors — the dreams of our old men, given them in solemn hours of the night by the Great Spirit; and the visions of our sachems, and is written in the hearts of our people.

Your dead cease to love you and the land of their nativity as soon as they pass the portals of the tomb and wander away beyond the stars. They are soon forgotten and never return. Our dead never forget this beautiful world that gave them being. They still love its verdant valleys, its murmuring rivers, its magnificent mountains, sequestered vales and verdant lined lakes and bays, and ever yearn in tender fond affection over the lonely hearted living, and often return from the happy hunting ground to visit, guide, console, and comfort them.

Day and night cannot dwell together. The Red Man has ever fled the approach of the White Man, as the morning mist flees before the morning

The Titanic Memorial Bandstand with the Mechanic's Institute in the Background – Sturt Street, Ballarat

The Titanic Memorial Bandstand with the Mechanic's Institute in the Background - Sturt Street, Ballarat
The beautiful Edwardian bandstand, erected in Ballarat’s Sturt Street in 1913, is dedicated to the bandsmen who lost their lives aboard the Titanic in 1912, when it sank after hitting an iceberg on its maiden voyage en route from England to the United States of America.

Perched atop the elaborate terracotta roof of the octangular bandstand is a silhouette of the Titanic , which acts as a weather vane.

The memorial was paid for by the generous donations from local Ballarat citizens, including one hundred and fifty pounds from the Victorian Band Association.

There are only two memorials to the bandsmen of the Titanic in Australia. the second one is in Broken Hill, New South Wales.

Construction on the Ballarat Mechanics’ Institute began in 1859. It took the dedication of locals another decade to complete the Sturt Street facade, and a further decade for the billard room to be completed.

Built in the Classical style, the three storey Mechanics’ Institute has a very restrained facade with minimal decoration. It features a beautiful bull nosed verandah edged with ornate cast iron lacework along the street to keep out the heat of the afternoon sun. Over the arched entrance, the letters of the Mechanic’s Institute are spelt in delicate, florid gilt letters. It also has a balcony extending from a scalloped niche on the first floor and a balconette on the upper floor. Crowning the building is the figure of Pallas Athena, the Greek Goddess of wisdom, courage, inspiration civilization, law and justice, just warfare, mathematics, strength, strategy, the arts, crafts, and skill.

Historically, Mechanics’ Institutes were educational establishments formed to provide adult education, particularly in technical subjects, to working men. As such, they were often funded by local industrialists on the grounds that they would ultimately benefit from having more knowledgeable and skilled employees. The Mechanics’ Institutes were used as ‘libraries’ for the adult working class, and provided them with an alternative pastime to gambling and drinking in pubs.