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The descriptions given by Lords Brougham, Jeffrey, the genial Sir Walter, and others, of Watt's universality of knowledge and his charm in discourse recall Canterbury's exordium: Hear him but reason in divinity And, all-admiring, with an inward wish consumed, You would desire the king were made a prelate; Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs, You would say it hath been all in all his study: List his discourse of war, and you shall hear A fearful battle rendered you in music.

Say, I ain't got rid o' the stink of it yet, though it happened four years ago." The man's contempt and loathing were intense. He had offered the reward, paid it, he had led the Vigilantes in the hanging. But these things were simply part of the justice of man as he saw it, and rightly administered. The silent moments slipped by. Jeffrey Masters was sitting erect in his chair.

Jeffrey's sister, and when she nodded and gasped 'Yes, he blurted out that Mrs. Jeffrey was dead; that he had just come from the old house in Waverley Avenue, where she had just been found." "And Miss Tuttle?" "Didn't know what to say; just hid her face. She was leaning against the newel-post, so it was easy for her to do so.

This was a sad event which he had borne with resignation, seeing that, although it meant the loss of his letters, which were of importance, she had aboard of her several persons whom he wished to see no more, especially Sir Christopher Harflete and Sir John Foterell's serving-man, Jeffrey Stokes, who was said to carry with him certain inconvenient documents.

They could tell only of their long acquaintance with Jeffrey Whiting, of their belief in him, of their firm faith that in holding the people back from giving the options to Rogers and the railroad he had been acting in absolute good faith and purely in the interests of the people.

Jervis; and the third is that when Jeffrey was seen by Mr. Hindley, there was no sign of his being addicted to the taking of morphine. The first and second facts, you will agree, constitute complete identification."

In the night Jeffrey Whiting rode back up the long way to the hills and home. He was still bewildered, disappointed, and a little resentful of the Bishop's brief manners with him. He had gone looking for sympathy, understanding, help. And he had been told to find God. Find God? How did men go about to find God? Wasn't all the world continually on the lookout for God, and who ever found Him?

Politics are seldom witty or amusing; and though I was charmed with the good sense and occasional eloquence of Lord Jeffrey, I was glad to get upstairs to chasse-cafe and the ladies.

The prosecutor went on to draw out answer after answer tending to show that it was not really a conflict between the people and the railroad that had been making trouble in the hills all summer; that it was, in fact, merely a personal struggle for influence and gain between Jeffrey Whiting and the man who had been killed.

There he met Horner, Jeffrey, Brougham, and others, young thinkers and full of matter, Horner the philosopher, Jeffrey the critic, Brougham the statesman, and Sydney Smith the divine, and the divine was unsurpassed by any of the others in wit, energy, or decision of character.