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Updated: May 17, 2025
Efforts were made by friends of Greeley to persuade him not to undertake such an impossible task, but they could produce no effect. Mr. Griswold was put in nomination by Mr. Demers, one of the most eloquent young men in the ministry of the State, and afterwards an editor of power, and his speech filled every requirement. Then I presented Mr. Greeley.
It was evident that the ice had begun to melt, but it might have been a long time in dissolving, had not collateral incidents assisted. It so happened that, about this time, George Griswold, the only son before referred to, returned to his native village, after having completed his theological studies at a neighboring institution.
In tones of rage and mortification Cochran swore explosively; Post was relieved to find he was swearing at himself. "I ought to be horsewhipped!" roared Cochran. "I'll never forgive myself! Who," he demanded, "saw the pictures? Was it a man or a woman?" Post laughed unhappily. "It was Chester Griswold." A remarkable change came over Cochran.
Those of us who know the life of Poe remember Griswold as the man who pretended to be his friend, but who after Poe's death wrote his life, filling it with all the scandalous falsehoods he could hear of or invent. To Bayard Taylor, however, he seems to have been a helpful friend. "I have met with strange things since I wrote last," writes Taylor to a school friend in March, 1843.
Nelle Mitchell Fick was elected temporary and later Mrs. W. S. Griswold permanent chairman. On the afternoon of August 21, old and new suffrage workers joined in a celebration at Seattle of the final ratification by the Legislature of Tennessee, which was attended by over two hundred women. Election returns furnish conclusive proof that the women of Washington use the ballot.
Eben Griswold, who lived at Greenfield, was nearer home than any of the others, and Lizzy, consequently, oftener at her grandfather's house than her cousins.
Surely, never so dark an hour had gathered round him, or one so fraught with peril. Like lightning his mind took in once more the whole matter as it was. Griswold was dead. On his grave the autumn leaves were falling and the nightly vigils by that grave had been of no avail.
I'll sink you and submerge before she can fire a shot." "Well, you big cut throat," shouted Captain Griswold, losing his temper, "why don't you do it?" "You dare to talk to a German officer like that?" thundered the submarine commander. "You shall be sunk immediately. But first I wanted a word with you. I just wanted to tell you what fate I hold in store for you."
"Last November I wrote to Mr. Griswold, sending a poem to be inserted in the Post. However, I said that it was my highest ambition to appear in Grahams Magazine. Some time ago I got an answer. He said he had read my lines 'To the Brandywine, which appeared in the Post, with much pleasure, and would have put them in the magazine if he had seen them in time.
Harold, Captain Stewart and Peggy returned to the launch one might have thought that they, instead of Durand, had been plunged overboard. They seemed dazed, and the run across to the Griswold dock was less joyous than the earlier portion of the day had been.
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