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Updated: May 20, 2025
Its successful rival remarked in a not over sympathetic paragraph that "it went out like the snuff of a candle leaving behind it something of the flavour of that domestic nuisance." I remember poor George Dawson, who had lost a good deal of money through the failure of the Birmingham Daily Press, thought the Post's spiteful little obituary notice the unkindest cut of all.
The Post next proceeded to publish a directory of Houston's red-light district, giving names and addresses of the "madames," the number of their "boarders" and the condition of the merchandise thrown upon the market. All that was necessary to make the Post's Bawdy-house Guide complete was the addition of rate- cards.
Brower Williams, the Post's city editor, at the other end of the wire, called the name of his God in holy awe at the dimensions of the scoop thus dropped down upon him as from heaven; and implored the Doc, for old time's sake, by all that he held most sacred and most dear, to say not a word till the evening papers were out, thus insuring the sensation for the Post. Mr.
I must have materials for writing, Miles, and you will choose an express for me out of your people; let the man be ready to mount in half an hour; for I shall not require half that time to prepare my letter." "Medical advice is useless, I am afraid, dear sir," I answered. "We have Post's directions, and very respectable attendance from our own family physician, Dr.
Begod, John Marsh, if you were a father you wouldn't ask such a damn silly question. Here, have a cigar! Henry's comin' back!" When Henry entered the room, his father was lying back in his chair, puffing smoke into the air, while John Marsh was cutting the end of his cigar. "The post's come in," he said. "Anything for me?" his father asked. "No. There was only one letter. For me.
Between the Hasabala and Klokol Lake, Jan found three other cabins, and at each he left a bit of the red cotton. Forty miles to the south, somewhere on the Porcupine, were the lines of Henry Langlois, the post's greatest fox-hunter. On the morning of the third day, Jan set off in search of Langlois; and late in the afternoon of the same day he came upon a well-beaten snow-shoe trail.
As he did so, the man who had been smoking making a flying leap over the back platform railing, darted up the street. At the same time the man who had been accused of causing the cigar ashes to scatter over Mr. Post's vest, slipped from the steps and made a hurried run for the sidewalk. "After him, some one!" cried the gray-haired man. "I'll get the other chap. He's the main one.
If you had been in England you might have read in one of last week's "MORNING POST'S" that a marriage has been arranged and will shortly take place between Mr Willoughby Maule, formerly confidential adviser to His Highness the Rajah of Kasalpore and Evelyn Mary, only daughter of the late John Bagallay, Esq, and the late Mrs Bagally of Bagallay Court, Birmingham.
McKann asked if they would not excuse him, since he was going over to New York on the late train, would be tired, and would not have time to dress, etc. No, not at all. It would be foolish for two women to trail up to the stage unattended. Mrs. Post's husband always accompanied her to concerts, and she expected that much attention from her host.
What reason the King hath, I know not; but it seems he is doubtfull of Scotland: and this afternoon, when I was there, the Council was called extraordinary; and they were opening the letter this last post's coming and going between Scotland and us and other places. The King of France is well again. 2nd. To St. James's, to Mr.
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