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Updated: May 16, 2025
So it is that in early youth we strain our eager sight after the pursuits of manhood; and, as we are sliding off the stage, strive to gather up the toys and flowers that pleased our thoughtless childhood. When I was quite a boy my father used to take me to the Montpelier Tea Gardens at Walworth. Do I go there now? No; the place is deserted, and its borders and its beds o'erturned.
All the marks of the preceding night's adventures were there the gridiron, the empty rum jar, the the table o'erturned in the mélée with the ghost but the chest of money was gone." "And what did Sam conclude from that incident?" inquired Fritz. "Well, he supposed that he had slept rather long, and that somebody had come in before he as up and had walked off with the box."
Back of stone: A Cloud of Witnesses lyes here, Who for Christ's Interest did appear, For to restore true Liberty, O'erturned then by tyranny. And by proud Prelats who did Rage Against the Lord's own heritage. They sacrificed were for the laws Of Christ their king, his noble cause. These heroes fought with great renown By falling got the Martyr's crown. Kirkton. Turner. Kirkton. Kirkton.
This very day she was to have been torn From her confinement; he, this very moment, Disclosed his plan to me: I took him prisoner, And gave him to the guard, when in despair To see his work o'erturned, himself unmasked, He slew himself! ELIZABETH. Oh, I indeed have been Deceived beyond example, Mortimer! BURLEIGH. This happened then but now? Since last we parted?
Back of stone: A Cloud of Witnesses lyes here, Who for Christ's Interest did appear, For to restore true Liberty, O'erturned then by tyranny. And by proud Prelats who did Rage Against the Lord's Own heritage. They sacrificed were for the laws Of Christ their king, his noble cause. 'They cut his hands ere he was dead, And after that struck of his head.
William Browne, a poet of the time, wrote in 1644: "The town's enclosed with desert moors, But where no bear nor lion roars, And naught can live but hogs; For all o'erturned by Noah's flood, Of fourscore miles scarce one foot's good, And hills are wholly bogs.
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