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Updated: June 7, 2025
Now it is averred, but whether on authority available in a court of justice, we do not pretend to have investigated, that the young man was tempted by the devil, one night, to search his uncle's private drawers, to which he had unsuspected means of access. While thus criminally occupied, he was startled by the opening of the chamber-door. There stood old Jaffrey Pyncheon, in his nightclothes!
When their daughter was born, the father and mother were living in Temple, a village of Southern New Hampshire not very far from Jaffrey. The little girl was taught by her father, and was later sent to the academy at New Ipswich, New Hampshire, to the high school at Lowell, and to Mt. Holyoke Seminary, where she was graduated. After leaving Mt.
He had been absent only a few minutes when I heard a rustling at the door. I looked up, and beheld Mr. Jaffrey standing on the threshold, with his dress in disorder, his scant hair flying, and the wildest expression on his face. "He's gone!" cried Mr. Jaffrey. "Who? Sewell? Yes, he just went to bed." "No, not Tobias the boy!" "What, run away?" "No he is dead!
Jaffrey hopped up and down the narrow bar-room and chirped away as blithely as a bird on a cherry-bough, occasionally ruffling with his fingers a slight fringe of auburn hair which stood up pertly round his head and seemed to possess a luminous quality of its own. "Don't I find it a little slow up here at the Corners? Not at all, my dear sir. I am in the thick of life up here.
Jaffrey whispered to me that Andy had had a comfortable night. "Silas!" said Mr. Sewell, sharply, "what are you whispering about?" Mr. Sewell was in an ill-humor; perhaps he was jealous because I had passed the evening in Mr. Jaffrey's room; but surely Mr. Sewell could not expect his boarders to go to bed at eight o'clock every night, as he did. From time to time during the meal Mr.
We compromise by christening him Elkanah Elkins Andrew Jackson Jaffrey. Rather a long name for such a short little fellow," said Mr. Jaffrey, musingly. "Andy is n't a bad nickname," I suggested. "Not at all. We call him Andy, in the family. Somewhat fractious at first colic and things.
Be merciful in your dealings with him! be far more merciful than your heart bids you be! for God is looking at you, Jaffrey Pyncheon!" The Judge followed his cousin from the shop, where the foregoing conversation had passed, into the parlor, and flung himself heavily into the great ancestral chair.
George Jaffrey, third of the name, was a character of another complexion, a gentleman born, a graduate of Harvard in 1730, and one of His Majesty's Council in 1766 a man with the blood of the lion and the unicorn in every vein.
Who is it, Cousin Hepzibah?" "Did you never hear of Clifford Pyncheon?" "Never. I thought there were no Pyncheons left, except yourself and our Cousin Jaffrey, the judge. And yet I seem to have heard the name of Clifford Pyncheon. Yes, from my father, or my mother. But hasn't he been dead a long while?"
So firm and quiet is the nervous system of such men as Judge Pyncheon, that he had perhaps stirred not more than once since her departure, but, in the hard composure of his temperament, retained the position into which accident had thrown him. "I tell you, Jaffrey," cried Hepzibah impatiently, as she turned from the parlor-door to search other rooms, "my brother is not in his chamber!
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