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Updated: July 9, 2025
About eleven o'clock Secretary Boutwell went to the White House, and after a brief conference General Grant expressed his wish that the desired relief should be given, and Secretary Boutwell promptly telegraphed to Sub-Treasurer Butterfield, at New York, to give notice that he would sell four millions of gold. This collapsed the speculation.
I pictured to myself my future dreary life to have to sit in a dull office all day, and then to have to come home with no other society than that of Mr Butterfield and Aunt Deb as long as she remained at Liverpool. I knew nobody at Liverpool, and did not see how I was to form any acquaintances of my own.
"Why, Emmy woman, don't ye know the United States government ain't no such fool as to go on payin' a woman for havin' a dead husband when she catches holt of a livin' one? Don't you know that?" "Josh Butterfield! you don't mean " "Why, that's true. Didn't you know that? Well, well! Why, a smart widow woman could get consid'able of a income by sendin' husbands to wars, if it wa'n't for that.
Lincoln was ever an applicant was that given to Butterfield soon after the inauguration of President Taylor. Of few lawyers have brighter things ever been told than of Justin Butterfield.
In the house was an exultant savour of frying onions; a hissing sound came from the sitting-room. 'Cooking your supper, eh, Mrs. Butterfield? said Bower, with genial familiarity. 'Why, that's right make yourself comfortable. Don't you fuss about, now; I'll sit down here; I like the smell. Mrs. Butterfield was not at all the same woman with this visitor that she was with strangers.
I was much inclined to say who I was, and to speak of Mr Butterfield, but shame prevented me, and the captain made no inquiries on the subject. "Now go forward," he said; "look out sharp, get back your strength, and make yourself useful." He turned on his heel, not deigning to hold any further conversation with so insignificant a person as he considered me. The mate let me go.
I am therefore constrained to request Your Honor, as an old and cherished friend, to lend me the amount necessary to discharge this fine." Instantly the judge exclaimed: "Remit that fine, Mr. Clerk; the State is more able to lose it than I am." Near two-thirds of a century ago, one of the best-known lawyers in Illinois was Justin Butterfield.
Anthony had said to him once, "Miss Butterfield is very beautiful, isn't she, Davy? You haven't painted me a picture of her yet. How does she look?" Davy was stricken at first with silent embarrassment. He was a truthful child, but in this he could no more have told the whole truth than he could have cut off his hand. He was knit to Lyddy by every tie of gratitude and affection.
That evening at the country grocery the bear-story of the squirrel-hunter was amply corroborated by Grandpa Butterfield, who was so winded and spent with running that he could barely gasp out his disconnected account of the chase through the woods.
The next morning, with Grandpa Butterfield as a guide, several men went over the ground, where there was plenty of evidence to substantiate the old man's story. The empty honey-frames were there, and the bear-tracks told as plainly as words that a bear, of unusual size, had given the old man the run of his life through the woods.
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