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The gentleman apparently did not resent this, although he seemed in imminent danger of being upset. "How be you, Peleg? Er you know Will?" "No," said the gentleman. Mr. Bixby seized Mr. Wetherell under the elbow, and addressed himself to the storekeeper's ear. "Will, I want you to shake hands with Senator Peleg Hartington, of Brampton. This is Will Wetherell, Peleg, from Coniston you understand."
Bijah Bixby paid a visit to the Harwich bank and went among certain Coniston farmers looking over the sheep, his clothes bulging out in places when he began, and seemingly normal enough when he had finished. History repeats itself, even among lions and jackals. Thirty-six years before there had been a town-meeting in Coniston and a surprise.
Her household work done, a longing for further motion seized her, and she walked out under the maples of the village street. Let it be understood that Coniston was a village, by courtesy, and its shaded road a street. Suddenly, there was the tannery, Jethro standing in front of it, contemplative. Did he see her? Would he come to her?
Such was the soul of the storekeeper of Coniston. Whether or not he was one of those immortalized in the famous Elegy, it is not for us to say. A celebrated poet who read the letters to the Guardian at Miss Lucretia Penniman's request has declared Mr. Wetherell to have been a genius.
"Because I thought that you would have read the articles, and I knew if you had, you would have taken the trouble to inform yourself of the world's opinion." Again Miss Lucretia stared at her. "I will go to Coniston with you," she said, "at least as far as Brampton." Cynthia's face softened a little at the words.
He boarded with Chester Perkins, and he was humored by the village as a harmless but amiable lunatic. The painter had never conceived that a New England conscience and a temper of no mean proportions could dwell together in the body of a wood nymph. When he had first seen Cynthia among the willows by Coniston Water, he had thought her a wood nymph.
Crewe, something cantankerous and passionate in the Abolitionist Judge Whipple of The Crisis, above all something both tough and quaint in the up-country politician Jethro Bass in Coniston resisted the argumentative knife and saved for those particular persons that look of being entities in their own right which distinguishes the authentic from the artificial characters of fiction.
Sutton persisted, with a praiseworthy determination to be pleasant. "It has turned out to be so, Mr. Sutton," replied Cynthia. This was not precisely the answer Mr. Sutton expected, and to tell the truth, he didn't know quite what to make of it. "A great treat to see Washington and New York, isn't it?" said Mr. Sutton, kindly, "a great treat for a Coniston girl.
Amos Cuthbert was elected Chairman, not without a gallant and desperate but unsupported fight of a minority led by Mr. Jake Wheeler, whose loyalty must be taken as a tribute to his species. Farmer Cuthbert was elected, and his mortgage was not foreclosed! Had it been, there was more money in the Harwich bank. There was no telegraph to Coniston in these days, and so Mr.
On La Follette, his own narrative as given in the Autobiography is best, but should be read with care as it was written in the heat of partisan controversy. See also F.C. Howe, Wisconsin an Experiment in Democracy , friendly to La Follette. Frank Norris, The Octopus, and The Pit; Winston Churchill, Coniston and Mr. Crewe's Career; and Upton Sinclair, The Jungle, are illustrative fiction.