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Updated: June 10, 2025
It is humiliating to think that any successor of Choate, Webster, or Evarts should earn his bread in this way, but it is true all the same. "The prisoner will take the stand!" cried Cartwright, in a firm voice.
Choate had heard Esther's music, he had seen the dancing lights, and Esther had been willing he and all men should. There was no mariner who sailed the seas so insignificant as not to be hailed by Esther. That was the trouble. Circe's isle was there, and she was glad they knew it.
Clay's manner and language became offensive. "Sir," said Mr. Choate, "I insist on my right to explain what I did say in my own words." "But I want a direct answer," exclaimed Mr. Clay. "Mr. President," said Mr. Choate, "the gentleman will have to take my answer as I choose to give it to him." Here the two Senators were called to order, and both of them were requested to take their seats.
In an age when indolence or the study of French models has reduced our sentences to the economic curtness of telegraphic despatches, to the dimension of the epigram without its point, Mr. Choate is one of the few whose paragraphs echo with the long-resounding pace of Dryden's coursers, and who can drive a predicate and six without danger of an overset. Mr.
"We used to sail the old scow down there," he said. "Remember?" Choate nodded. "She's down there now in one of the yards, filled with red geraniums." They sat for a while in the silence of men who find it unexpectedly restful to be together and need not even say so. Yet they were not here at all. They were boys of Addington, trotting along side by side in the inherited games of Addington.
"Sometimes I think," said Jeff, not half noticing him, "that what really was doing in me in jail was country country patriotism, a kind of irrational thing sort of mother love applied to the soil the thing men die for. Call it liberty, if you want to, but it's all boiled down now to Addington. Choate, don't you see Addington took hold on eternal things? Don't you know how deep her roots go?
Jeff was more interested in his eating than in answering Mrs. Choate with more than an encouraging: "We've got 'em, I think. But I wish," he said, "we had more time to follow up Weedie. What's he saying to 'em?" "Ask Madame Beattie," said Alston, with more distaste than he could keep out of his voice. "I saw her last night on the outskirts of his crowd, sitting in Denny's hack."
Webster was the counsel for the husband; Rufus Choate for the wife. As an advocate, the latter has had few equals, no superiors, at the American bar. In the case mentioned, with a distressed woman for a client, what was dearer than life, her reputation, in the balance, it may well be believed that the wondrous powers of the advocate were in requisition to the utmost.
Choate wished the nugatory Esther were out of the way, and she could marry Mary off to Jeff. Mary, pale, yet wholesome, fair-haired, with the definite Choate profile, and dressed in her favourite smoke colour and pale violet, her mother loved conscientiously, if impatiently.
As the son-in-law of Judge Story and the brother of Judge Curtis, there was a general expectation that his career would be distinguished. That expectation was not realized. His self-conceit was unbounded. That defect made him unpopular with his professional brethren, and at last it alienated his clients. Even Mr. Choate, the gentlest of men, could not endure Mr. Curtis.
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