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Updated: June 17, 2025
The spring of 1838 was marked by two events of interest to Miss Barrett and her family. In the first place, Mr. Barrett's apparently interminable search for a house ended in his selection of 50 Wimpole Street, which continued to be his home for the rest of his life, and which is, consequently, more than any other house in London, to be associated with his daughter's memory.
The ball must have gone through the stomach, from its direction. He was now dying nearly dead. The canoe was chopped up, and, with the black, disappeared a short time afterwards. I dressed Barrett's wounds, three of them, of a triangular shape, in the lower and fleshy part of the forearm.
"My family in Accomac was harsh with the Methodists through a mistaken conservatism," Judge Custis said. "They are a good people; they seem to suit this peninsula like the peachtree." A small funeral procession was turning into Barrett's chapel, and the Chancellor interrogated one of the more indifferent followers as to the dead person.
The Government reports bear out Barrett's statements, although in saying this it must be with qualifications. The shippers engaged in the East India and China trade were more favored, it seems, than other classes of shippers, which discrimination engendered much antagonism.
Though I had been holding back, both for Barrett's sake and because of my own wretched handicap, it soon became apparent that I had gone too far to be able to retreat with honor; that Polly Everton's name had already been coupled with mine in the gossip of the great gold camp; and that if what Barrett had said were true Polly herself had to be considered. So the double life began and continued.
I have seen him once only, many years ago. He is, I hear from all quarters, a man of immense attainment and great conversational power. As a poet I think him overrated.... Those things on which his reputation rests, Paracelsus and Bells and Pomegranates, are to me as so many riddles." In a later letter she writes to the same correspondent: "I at Miss Barrett's wedding! Ah, dearest Mr.
They could see the British dividing, one party crossing the south bridge and going towards Colonel Barrett's house to destroy the supplies collected there; another party advancing to the north bridge. Roger saw groups of officers in the graveyard using their spy-glasses. A soldier was cutting down the liberty pole.
The Head was just handing him his prizes when the latter came into the room. It speaks well for Barrett's presence of mind that he had grasped the situation and decided on his line of action before Welch went, and the Head turned his attention to him. 'Well, Barrett? said the Head. 'If you please, sir, said Barrett, blandly, 'may I have leave to go to Stapleton? 'Certainly, Barrett.
Judge John S. Keyes, in the sketch of Barrett's life printed in the second series of the "Memoirs of Members of the Social Circle in Concord," says of him: "His house was the resort of many of the connections of himself and wife, who had there gay and jolly frolics. He was a captain of the Light Infantry company of the town.
Barrett's little Bessie is very ill with fever," answered Marian. Then, catching his anxious look, she hastened to add, "It is nothing infectious some kind of a slow, sapping variety. There is no danger, Esterbrook." "I was not afraid for myself," he replied quietly. "My alarm was for you. You are too precious to me, Marian, for me to permit you to risk health and life, if it were dangerous.
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