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Updated: May 20, 2025
The bark came in prettily enough, men in the crowd even catching her lines and making them fast to the piles. A gang-plank was thrown over. "Come out, Mr. Hood," they cried; "we are here to do you honour, and to welcome you home again." There were leather breeches with staves a-plenty around that plank, and faces that meant no trifling. "McNeir, the rogue," exclaimed Mr.
I preferred to remain outside. I asked them if they would trust me with Mr. Stewart to Church Street. "Yes, yes, Mr. Carvel, we know you," said several. "He has good cause to hate Tories," called another, with a laugh. I knew the voice. "For shame, Weld," I cried. And I saw McNeir, who was a stanch friend of mine, give him a cuff to send him spinning.
McNeir had his thigh broken by a pike, and was dragged back after the first rush was over; and the mate of the bark was near to drowning, being rescued, indeed, by Graham, the tanner. Mr. Hood stood white in the gangway, dodging a missile now and then, waiting his chance, which never came.
Since then I have learned from the late mayor of the city of Washington, upon whose recommendation the nomination was made, that the person whom he intended to recommend for that office was George McNeir, whom I now nominate to be a justice of the peace in and for the county of Washington, in the District of Columbia.
I preferred to remain outside. I asked them if they would trust me with Mr. Stewart to Church Street. "Yes, yes, Mr. Carvel, we know you," said several. "He has good cause to hate Tories," called another, with a laugh. I knew the voice. "For shame, Weld," I cried. And I saw McNeir, who was a stanch friend of mine, give him a cuff to send him spinning.
WASHINGTON, July 2, 1850. To the Senate of the United States: In the month of March last I nominated William McNeir to be a justice of the peace in and for the county of Washington, in the District of Columbia, and on the 24th day of June the Senate advised and consented to the nomination.
I preferred to remain outside. I asked them if they would trust me with Mr. Stewart to Church Street. "Yes, yes, Mr. Carvel, we know you," said several. "He has good cause to hate Tories," called another, with a laugh. I knew the voice. "For shame, Weld," I cried. And I saw McNeir, who was a stanch friend of mine, give him a cuff to send him spinning.
The bark came in prettily enough, men in the crowd even catching her lines and making them fast to the piles. A gang-plank was thrown over. "Come out, Mr. Hood," they cried; "we are here to do you honour, and to welcome you home again." There were leather breeches with staves a-plenty around that plank, and faces that meant no trifling. "McNeir, the rogue," exclaimed Mr.
The bark came in prettily enough, men in the crowd even catching her lines and making them fast to the piles. A gang-plank was thrown over. "Come out, Mr. Hood," they cried; "we are here to do you honour, and to welcome you home again." There were leather breeches with staves a-plenty around that plank, and faces that meant no trifling. "McNeir, the rogue," exclaimed Mr.
McNeir had his thigh broken by a pike, and was dragged back after the first rush was over; and the mate of the bark was near to drowning, being rescued, indeed, by Graham, the tanner. Mr. Hood stood white in the gangway, dodging a missile now and then, waiting his chance, which never came.
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