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A warrior who had seen service, probably, but whose surly physiognomy was somewhat disconcerting. The two officers had been in earnest conversation, but when Mr. Merrick's party was ushered in, the elder man leaned back in his chair, squinting and scowling, and regarded them silently. "Huh!" exclaimed the colonel, in a brusque growl. "What is it, von Holtz?"
In the third Essay, on Parochial Psalmody, he gives the preference to Merrick's weak and affected version over the two other translations that are used in our churches. The late Bishop Horsley, in his Commentary on the Psalms, was, I believe, the first who was hardy enough to claim that palm for Sternhold, to which, with all its awkwardness, his rude vigour entitles him.
Merrick's excellent technique. This collection of newspaper sketches written during the past fifteen years have no pretensions to art, and were written with a frankly propagandist intention. The vividness of their portraiture and the passion of their challenge to the existing social order warrant their mention here, and I do not think they will be forgotten readily by those who read them.
Opinion seemed divided as to whether the promised "boom" was desirable for Millville or not. Some of the good villagers were averse to personal activity and feared the new order of things might disturb their comfort; in others a mild ambition had been awakened. But while they feasted at Mr. Merrick's expense and gravely canvassed the situation, the newly installed electric lights suddenly failed.
The young Bostonian, one of the dead sculptor's pupils who had come with the body, looked about him helplessly. He turned to the banker, the only one of that black, uneasy, stoop-shouldered group who seemed enough of an individual to be addressed. "None of Mr. Merrick's brothers are here?" he asked uncertainly. The man with the red heard for the first time stepped up and joined the group.
"I beg your pardon; but you must recollect that I have never seen Hugh Mainwaring living, and have little idea how he looked." "By George! that's a fact. Well, then, who in the dickens do you think he resembles?" The coachman's step was heard at that instant on the stairs, and Merrick's reply was necessarily brief. "Laying aside expression, take feature for feature, and you have the face of Mrs.
It appeared that the company in which he was so largely interested had found the tract very valuable, and had been seeking for the owners in order to purchase it or lease the right to cut the timber. But although they had traced it through the hands of several successive owners the present holders were all unknown to them until Mr. Merrick's information had furnished them with a clue.
His crowbait of a mule couldn't carry him so far." "I don't know anybody of that name, but I know about the roan colt that wasn't stolen from Pilot Knob," replied the farmer. "Let's go in and see if the women folks can't scare up a bite to eat." "One moment, please," Tom interposed. "Do you know anything about Merrick's boy? Is he Union or Secesh?" "Union and nothing else.
"Afraid! Me? Not when I'm awake, John. But what's to prevent more of those vermin from crawling into the tent during the night?" "Such thing very unusual." remarked Wampus, placing the last blanket on Mr. Merrick's improvised bed. "Perhaps you sleep in tent a week an' never see another rattler." "Just the same," concluded the Major, "I'll have my bed on top the limousine."
"They are beautiful eyes," said Uncle John, earnestly. "Sir, you have found in your niece one of the sweetest and most lovely girls that ever lived. I congratulate you!" Mr. Jones nodded again. His mood had changed again since they began to speak of Myrtle. His eyes now glowed with pleasure and pride. He clasped Mr. Merrick's hand in his own as he said with feeling: "She has saved me, sir.
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