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Updated: June 27, 2025
Ephraim lifted his patient eyes to Rogers's face for a moment with an expression of meek reproof, then let them slide back to his boots again, but answered nothing. The enmity of the two was well known in Waddy.
Newton is married to a Miss Sullivan, daughter of General Sullivan, of Boston, an accomplished woman and a belle. He is expected in England soon. "I found almost everybody out of town in London. I called and left a card at Rogers's, but he was in the country, so were most of the artists of my acquaintance.
So I gave them the whole story, beginning with Tuesday afternoon, when we left Captain Bannister on the "Hoppergrass" at Bailey's Harbor. I told them how we came back there and found our boat gone, how we blundered into Littlefield's house in the fog, how we were caught, how we escaped from jail, and all the rest of it. Then I told about my trip to Rogers's Island, how I saw the Professor and Mr.
Rogers's shoulder, and scanning the shore through his glass, made a motion to step forward and hand her on deck. This was ever his courteous way, and I turned a moment later in some surprise, to find that, instead of closing the glass, he had lifted it, and was holding it again to his eye, at the same time keeping his right shoulder turned to us.
As she faltered over the words there came a louder knocking upon the door, which opened almost at the same minute. Mr. Rogers's deprecating face appeared there, and behind it the face of a policeman. "A minute, sir. I won't detain you a minute," the clerk said; and Sir Francis walked to the door with an impatient step and closed it behind him.
Allow me to say that in my humble opinion nothing in the whole range of literature so fully portrays a perfect woman as that noble sketch by Wordsworth, and the inimitable description in Rogers's 'Human Life." "The first is, I presume, familiar to all of us, but the last, I confess, escapes my memory. Will you be good enough to repeat it?" said the editor, knitting his brows slightly.
R. has proved himself false, notwithstanding his naming his son after me as a proof of friendship." The Mr. R. referred to was Henry J. Rogers, and, writing of him to Vail on April 26, Morse says: "I am truly grieved at Rogers's conduct. He must be conscious of doing great injustice; for a man that has wronged another is sure to invent some cause for his act if there has been none given.
I did get a grip of myself, and when Parks came back a moment later with the ammonia, was able to hold up Rogers's head, while Parks applied the phial to his nostrils. "Give me a whiff of it, too, Parks," I said, unsteadily, and in an instant my eyes were streaming; but I had escaped hysteria. "Straighten Rogers out and let him lie there," I gasped, and sat dizzily down upon the floor.
I thought old Rogers's tobacco must be nearly gone, and I might safely buy some more. Catherine's manner was much the same as usual. But as she was weighing my purchase, she broke out all at once: "It's no use your preaching at me, Mr Walton. I cannot, I WILL not forgive. I will do anything BUT forgive. And it's no use." "It is not I that say it, Catherine. It is the Lord himself."
For a fresh sound of hoofs smote on our ears this time in the lane a tune pounded out to the accompaniment of loose stones volleyed and dropping between the beats. "Drat the man's impidence," said Miss Belcher coolly; "he's taken my mare!" "What's that you say?" demanded Mr. Rogers's angry voice from the yard. "You won't find another horse, Jack, unless you brought him. Whitmore keeps but one."
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