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Cuyler and a placer, in the Guardian's own office, which showed how the Street regarded the Boston appointment. "Sorry, but I can't take that, Eddy; we don't write the shoe polish manufacturers at all there's too much naphtha used, and they all burn eventually," were the words that caught his attention, and in the shadow of the door he waited for the reply. "Ah, come off, now loosen up!
He fell thoughtfully silent. "Cuyler tells me he's lost another broker Spencer and Carrick have begun to drop their expirations with us," remarked Mr. Wintermuth, with an irrelevance that was more apparent than real. "Does he think the Salamander's getting them?" Smith inquired, his eyes narrowing. The older man nodded. The other rose from his chair.
No," he went on, looking at her; "it does not depend on many things; just on one." Miss Cuyler looked up at him questioningly, and then down again very quickly, and reached meaninglessly for the book beside her. She saw something in his face and in the rigidity of his position that made her breathe more rapidly.
"She wrote it herself, and though I ran away from home and broke her heart, yet she says that she still loves me, and is praying for me, and wants me to come home." Dr. T.L. Cuyler went to make his first call on a rich merchant. It was a cold winter evening, and as the door was opened when the minister was leaving, a cold, piercing gale swept in. Dr.
Gunterson is your superior officer, and that was an entirely improper thing for you to say. But I've known you, Cuyler, for forty years, and I don't mind telling you that that is exactly what I have been wanting to say about Mr. Gunterson for the last three weeks." A rueful smile broke through the gloom of both.
Dr. Theodore Cuyler once said concerning the three thousand souls he had received into Church fellowship during his ministry, "I have handled every stone." Memory Verse: "And he that is wise winneth souls." Scripture for Meditation: 2 Cor. v, 14-21.
"And I will go to her at once," he said, after the first hour had been given to the dead; "I will tell her all the truth." He rose to leave the room, but something stayed him there, and whispered in his ear, "There may be some mistake. Cuyler is not far away. Go there first and investigate." For him to will was to do, and telling Mrs.
In the course of my life I have received several very pleasant letters from my venerable friend, the Quaker poet; but immediately after his eightieth birthday he addressed me the following letter, which, believing it to be his last, I framed and hung on the walls of my library: OAK KNOLL, 12th month, 17th, 1887. My dear Dr. Cuyler,
Brown. I sent him a copy of the little book, "The Empty Crib," which had been recently published, and received from him the following characteristic reply: 25 RUTLAND STREET, EDINBURGH, May 25, 1872. My Dear Dr. Cuyler Very many thanks for your kind note, and the little book. It will be my own fault if I am not the better for reading it.
She failed to discover the object of her search, and finally reached the Niagara without having delivered her warning. It was now time for her return, while Cuyler should have arrived long since; and day after day were the eyes of the weary garrison directed down the shining river, in efforts to detect the first glint of sails or flash of oars.
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