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Updated: June 23, 2025
Witness Stratton's conversation with the drunken bookbinder whom we know as John B. Gough, the apostle of temperance. Witness Moffat's words that changed David Livingstone, the weaver, into David Livingstone, the savior of Africa. Witness Garibaldi's words fashioning the Italian mob into the conquering army. Witness Garrison and Beecher and Phillips and John Bright.
But he caught the eye, a slenderly built, reckless fellow, smoothly shaven, with a strong chin and bright laughing eyes, and as he lolled carelessly back in his bearskin "chaps" and wide-brimmed sombrero, occasionally throwing in some cool, insinuating comment regarding Moffat's recitals, the latter experienced a strong inclination to heave him overboard.
Moffat's sustaining arm, I did not need the startling picture of the prisoner, standing upright, with outheld and repellant hands, to realise that the impossible had happened, and that all which he, as well as I, had done and left undone, suffered and suppressed, had been in vain. Mr.
I note these defects to show that she was by no means a heroine. I quote her affair with Jack Folinsbee to show she was scarcely the average woman. That handsome, graceless vagabond had struck the outskirts of Red Dog in a cyclone of dissipation which left him a stranded but still rather interesting wreck in a ruinous cabin not far from Peg Moffat's virgin bower.
Mr Nearthewinde assured him triumphantly that half at least of the wallowing swine were his own especial friends; and that somewhat more than half of the publicans of the town were eagerly engaged in fighting his, Mr Moffat's battle. Mr Moffat groaned, and would have expostulated had Mr Nearthewinde been willing to hear him.
Moffat's voice was heard rising again in his strange but telling examination: "When you thrust your hand in to take this oath, did you drop anything into your sister's casket?" "I did not. My hand was empty. I held no ring, and dropped none in. I simply touched her forehead."
The sturdiness and immobility of his aspect were impressive, in spite of his plain features and the still unmistakable signs of long cherished discontent and habitual dissipation. He had struck bottom with his feet, and there he would stand, or so I thought as I levelled my own glances at him. But I had not fully sounded all of Alonzo Moffat's resources.
Frank did not understand the reasoning; but he felt himself unable to rebel, and he therefore, remained there, comforting himself, as best he might, with the eloquence of the Honourable George, and the sporting humours of the Honourable John. Mr Moffat's was the earliest arrival of any importance.
Upon Moffat's return home again, his wife, by Dr. Smith's orders, left for the Cape to recruit her strength; and Robert Moffat went itinerating among the scattered Bechwanas. A most interesting time was spent at a village, one hundred and fifty miles from Kuruman, where a chief named Mosheu and his people resided.
It was written in answer to a few lines I wrote him, informing him that the Transvaal had been annexed by the British Government. I enclose a copy of his letter." Dr. Moffat's letter is as follows: July 27th, 1877. "My dear friend, "I have no words to express the pleasure the late annexation of the Transvaal territory to the Cape Colony has afforded me.
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