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"Ay, so I was, and hard enough work I had to convince them that I had nothin' to do with it myself, but they saw that I couldn't jump a stone wall eight foot high to save my life, much less break into a house, and they got no further evidence to convict me, so they let me off; but it'll go hard with you, nephy, for Major Stewart described the men, and one o' them was a big strong feller, the description bein' as like you as two peas, only their faces was blackened, and the lantern threw the light all one way, so he didn't see them well.
"Pray Heaven it have not given us the plague," observed the fair Stewart, who stood beside him, taking his arm. "It is to be hoped not," rejoined Charles; "but, odds fish! it is a most dismal affair." "It is so, in more ways than one," replied Rochester, "for I have just learnt that all my best plate has been carried off from the Convocation House.
Emigrants' Dress. Hunter's Home. Capture of Boone and Stewart by the Indians. Their Escape. Singular Incident. In the year 1767, a bold hunter by the name of John Finley with two or three companions crossed the mountain range of the Alleghanies into the region beyond, now known as Kentucky.
Just suddenly caught the view of the whole lake from there. I'd given up looking for it, too. "Same here," the other agreed. "I'd headed back and was expecting to fetch the Stewart last night, when out I popped in sight of the lake. If that's it, where's the Stewart? And where have I been all the time? And how did you come here? And what's your name?" "Bellew. Kit Bellew." "Oh! I know you."
And we're a' gaun east and wast, we're a' gann ajee, We're a' gaun east and wast courtin' Mally Lee." Mr. Charles Stewart the Writer dwelt at the top of the longest stair ever mason set a hand to; fifteen flights of it, no less; and when I had come to his door, and a clerk had opened it, and told me his master was within, I had scarce breath enough to send my porter packing.
This discovery was owing to the officious Duchess of Cleveland, who, ever since her disgrace, had railed most bitterly against Miss Stewart as the cause of it, and against the king's weakness, who, for an inanimate idiot, had treated her with so much indignity.
'I wouldn't go there to-day, I think, interposed Mrs. Stewart hurriedly. 'I don't think Neil will be at home. I'm afraid the walk would be too much for Tricksy, she went on quickly, for the young people were looking surprised. 'Not if we start now, I think, Mother, and give Tricksy a rest now and again. What do you say, Tricksy? 'Of course I can walk, said Tricksy.
It was all so very obvious that Samuel found himself in a state of exasperation with the people who did not yet understand it, and spent his time wrestling in imagination with all those he had ever known: with his brothers, and with Finnegan, and with Charlie Swift, with Master Albert and Mr. Wygant, with Professor Stewart and Dr. Vince.
I remember one began: "What do ye want the bluid of, bluid of? Is it a name, or is it a clan, Or is it an aefauld Hielandman, That ye want the bluid of, bluid of?" Another went to my old favourite air, The House of Airlie, and began thus: "It fell on a day when Argyle was on the bench, That they served him a Stewart for his denner."
William McKinley, twenty-fifth President, was descended from David McKinley, an Ulster Scot, born about 1730, and his wife, Rachel Stewart. The surname McKinley in Ireland occurs only in Ulster Scot territory. Of the Vice-Presidents of the United States six at least were of Scottish or Ulster Scot descent.
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