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Updated: May 24, 2025
Forbes was at the wharf when Bob landed, and when he saw who it was exclaimed in astonishment: "Why it's Bob Gray! Where in the world, or what spirit land did you come from? Why Ed Matheson brought your remains out of the bush last winter and I hear they were buried the other day." "I comes from Ungava, sir, with some letters Mr. MacPherson were sendin'," answered Bob, as he made the painter fast.
Lars Larssen was a craftsman taking up the commonest tools of his craft and using them to create a work of art of consummate build. His present work was to keep alive the personality of Clifford Matheson until the Hudson Bay scheme should be launched. To use Matheson's name on the prospectus, and to use his influence with Sir Francis Letchmere and others.
He held out a newspaper folded back to the financial page. A few moments' glance was sufficient to tell Matheson all that he needed to know that the issue had been launched in his name on the night of April 30th; that to-morrow at twelve o'clock the lists were to be closed. If he were to act at all, he must act now at once. His jaw squared and his mouth tightened as he thought out the situation.
When Queen Victoria was in residence in Scotland at Balmoral it was her kindly custom to present the various clergymen who preached in the Castle chapel with a photograph marked with her autograph. When George Matheson, the famous blind preacher, came she showed the fine thoughtful tact for which she was famous. Clearly an autographed photograph would not mean much in itself to a blind man.
Olive, in her delirium, caught at the words. "I can see the shore!" she cried. "Over there over there! Why don't you row? You want to kill me first!" Matheson tried to soothe her. "We'll soon be on shore. A boat will pick us up at daybreak." "Why didn't they show a blasted light?" cursed the seaman. The sullen dawn uncurtained a waste of slag-coloured, heaving waters.
Let us turn our faces from the path of strife toward the path of peace, for the pathway of right doing and of brotherly kindness is the only path to peace in this world." The Chairman then called upon the Reverend Murdo Matheson to express his mind.
At eleven o'clock the next morning, the shipowner was at the horseshoe desk in his throne-room, fingering the snapshot of Rivière which Sylvester had secured at Nîmes. He had seen in it the picture of a man very like Clifford Matheson, but not for a moment had he thought of it as the portrait of the financier himself.
Matheson made out of the choral song "When we are in dire distress" a very danceable minuet; out of "How beautifully upon us shines the morning star" a gavotte; out of "Lord Jesus Christ, thou greatest gift" a sarabande; out of "Be joyful, my soul" a burrée; and finally out of "I call to Thee, Lord Jesus Christ" a polonaise, by preserving the choral melodies note for note and only changing the rhythm, just exactly in the same way as we now make marches, waltzes, and polkas out of operatic arias.
Or rather, Mrs Matheson wants it." "Who is Mr John Rivière?" This came as a fresh surprise to Lars Larssen, and made him doubly anxious to discover the man. Why all this mystery surrounding him? "I understand from Mrs Matheson that Mr Rivière is her husband's half-brother. Lives somewhere around Paris." "Strange! I've never heard of him myself. I'll make enquiries if you'll wait a moment."
After another severe attack of fever, and during a long convalescence, I was laid up at Macao, where I enjoyed the hospitality of Messrs. Dent and of Messrs. Jardine and Matheson. Thence I was invalided home, and took my passage to Bombay in one of the big East India tea-ships. As I was being carried up the side in the arms of one of the boatmen, I overheard another exclaim: 'Poor little beggar.
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