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Updated: May 1, 2025
"Yet mark one caution, ere thy next Review Spread its light wings of Saffron and of Blue, Beware lest blundering Brougham spoil the sale, Turn Beef to Bannocks, Cauliflowers to Kail." BYRON, English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. Barrister, and writer of political pamphlets between 1791 and 1807. Jeffrey's house near Edinburgh.
"I " He paused; words were impossible to him; and in that pause his eyes flashed helplessly in the direction of Miss Tuttle. But the major was quick on his feet and was already between him and that lady. This act forced from Mr. Jeffrey's lips the following broken sentence: "I should like you to tell me." Great gasps came with each heavily spoken word.
The sketches of some of Jeffrey's contemporaries, as John Clerk, Sir Harry Moncreiff, and Henry Erskine, are vigorous pieces of painting, which will suggest to many a desire that the author should favour the public with a wider view of the men and things of Scotland in the age just past.
"I never reject a case off-hand unless it is obviously fishy. It is surprising how difficulties, and even impossibilities, dwindle if you look at them attentively. My experience has taught me that the most unlikely case is, at least, worth thinking over." "By the way, why do you want to look over Jeffrey's chambers? What do you expect to find there?" "I have no expectations at all.
Jeffrey's father had been brought up at Matching Priory as scions of ducal houses are brought up, and on the old man's death had been possessed of means sufficient to go on in the same path, though with difficulty. His brother had done something for him, and at various times he had held some place near the throne.
When Francis Jeffrey's hand fell from his forehead and he turned to face the assembled people, an instinctive compassion arose in every breast at sight of his face, which, if not open in its expression, was at least surcharged with the deepest misery. In a flash the scene took on new meaning.
I don't think any of them are bad." "Call in your men," said the Bishop briefly. "The soldiers are going back." At Jeffrey's call the men came running from all sides as he and the Bishop reached the line. Haggard, ragged, powder-grimed they gathered round, staring in dull unbelief at this new appearance of the White Horse Chaplain, for so one and all they knew and remembered him.
The next morning we went out to Craigcrook, Lord Jeffrey's country seat, to see and lunch with him. He was confined to his couch. . . . He is seventy-three or seventy-four, but looks not a minute older than fifty. He has a fine head and forehead, and most agreeable and courteous manners, rather of the old school. As he could not rise to receive me he kissed my hand. Mrs.
Thereafter all the signatures are in the new style; but, if you compare number two, dated the sixteenth of September with number twenty-four, dated the fourteenth of March of this year the day of Jeffrey's death you see that they exhibit no difference. Both are in the 'later style, but the last shows no greater change than the first. Don't you consider these facts very striking and significant?"
I can not live knowing this to be so. Pray God you may forgive me! As the last word fell with a little tremble from Mr. Jeffrey's lips, the coroner repeated: "You still think these words were addressed to you by your wife; that in short they contain an explanation of her death?" "I do." There was sharpness in the tone. Mr. Jeffrey was feeling the prick.
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