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Five or six weeks after his inauguration I went to Washington to ask a diplomatic appointment for my friend, Boyd Winchester. Ill health had cut short a promising career in Congress, but Mr. Winchester was now well on to recovery, and there seemed no reason why he should not and did not stand in the line of preferment. My experience may be worth recording because it is illustrative.
He had just arrived that afternoon, and was in hopes of getting his old battalion again, explaining that on account of his illness in England he had been temporarily replaced as regimental medical officer by Captain Boyd.
If she got me, I made sure that she would instantly come to the great house of Marnhoul with all the King's horses and all the King's men and so, as it were, spoil the night from which I expected so much. But it was the slouching figure of Boyd Connoway which had attracted her attention. To these inquiries, all put within the space of half-a-minute, I could not catch Connoway's replies.
Drew laughed, but Boyd did not appear amused. They had been favored with a short but pungent lecture from Mr. McKeever, served along with food, which to Drew made it worth the return of listening decorously to a listing of their sins. "I ain't goin' home," Boyd repeated stubbornly. "Well," Kirby pointed out, "if he rides up to the Yankee prison camp, he ain't gonna find you neither.
He told them when first rescued that he was ``a native of Providence, Rhode Island'' in America, while to his shipmates in California he always said he was a native of England and brought up on a smuggler. By a letter from his nephew, Edward W. Boyd, we learn that his real name was George Walker Marsh, that he was the eldest son of a retired English army officer and his wife, and was born in St.
I knew Clarissa Putnam; I also knew Susannah Wormwood and her sister Elizabeth, and all that pretty company; and many another pretty minx and laughing, light-minded lass in county Tryon. And a few in Cambridge, too. So I was no niais, no naive country fool, unless to remain aloof were folly. And I often wondered to myself how this might really be, when Boyd rallied me and messmates laughed.
"When I require you, Janet Lyon, to decide for your mother what is Gospel and what is not, I'll let ye ken," said my grandmother, "and if I have accepted a responsibility from the Most High for these children, I will do my best to render an account of my stewardship at the Great White Throne. In the meantime, you have no more right to task me for it, than than Boyd Connoway!"
I saw Colonel Sheldon presently, pale as death, and heard him exclaim: "Oh, Christ! I shall be broke for this! I shall be broke!" I made out to say to Boyd: "The enemy are coming in hundreds, sir, and we have scarce four score men mounted by the Meeting House." "They'll never stand, either," he panted. "But if they do we'll see this matter to an end." "Our orders?" I asked.
To H.S. Boyd December 4, 1842. My very dear Friend, You will think me in a discontented state of mind when I knit my brows like a 'sleeve of care' over your kind praises. But the truth is, I won't be praised for being liberal in Calvinism and love of Byron. I liberal in commending Byron!
Not for long would it be possible to keep her condition from Mrs. Boyd. He was desperately at a loss for some course to pursue. "Have you ever thought," he said at last, "that this man, whoever he is, ought to marry you?" Edith's face set like a flint. "I don't want to marry him," she said. "I wouldn't marry him if he was the last man on earth." He knew very little of Edith's past.
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