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You could hear them shouting and laughing all over the town at the things they got him to say. I tell you he's a case, Tom is. Last election he was as stirred up as any of us. Hollered ''Rah for Collins' until he was hoarse and his mother brought him home and gave him syrup of squills because she thought he had the croup. What do you think he did, now?
I comforted, scolded, laughed, preached, and adjured in a breath; and then, drawing my another gently on, entered my father's study. At the table was seated Mr. Squills, pen in hand, and a glass of his favorite punch by his side. My father was standing on the hearth, a shade more pale, but with a resolute expression on his countenance which was new to its indolent, thoughtful mildness.
Squills, leading the life of a snail! But my shell was all I could offer to my poor friend's orphan." "Mr. Caxton, I honor you," said Squills, emphatically, jumping up, and spilling half a tumblerful of scalding punch over my father's legs. "You have a heart, sir; and I understand why your wife loves you. You seem a cold man, but you have tears in your eyes at this moment."
Failing there, Mr. Tibbets rubbed off the remaining frost upon his double Saxony against your humble servant, patted Squills affectionately on the back, and then proceeded to occupy his favorite position before the fire. "Took you by surprise, eh?" said Uncle Jack, unpeeling himself by the hearth-rug. Not a word replied to this eloquent address, with its touching peroration.
Jack Tibbets is not a scholar, a genius, a wond " "Stop!" cried my father. "After all," said Mr. Squills, "though I am no flatterer, Mr. Tibbets is not so far out. That part of your book which compares the crania or skulls of the different races is superb. Lawrence or Dr. Prichard could not have done the thing more neatly. Such a book must not be lost to the world; and I agree with Mr.
None know how they are born, few know how they die; but I suspect that many can account for the intermediate phenomenon I cannot." "It was not for money, it must have been for love," observed Mr. Squills; "and your young wife is as pretty as she is good." "Ha!" said my father, "I remember." "Do you, sir?" exclaimed Squills, highly amused. "How was it?"
Thus, altogether, a kind of dreamy yet delightful melancholy seized upon my whole being; and this was the more remarkable because contrary to my early temperament, which was bold, active, and hilarious. The change in my character began to act upon my form. From a robust and vigorous infant, I grew into a pale and slender boy. I began to ail and mope. Mr. Squills was called in. "Tonics!" said Mr.
"Pooh!" interrupted Uncle Jack, "science is not a club, it is an ocean; it is open to the cock-boat as the frigate. One man carries across it a freightage of ingots, another may fish there for herrings. Who can exhaust the sea, who say to Intellect, 'The deeps of philosophy are preoccupied'?" "Admirable!" cried Squills.
A sort of thrill ran through the Captain's audience; even Uncle Jack seemed touched, for he stared very hard at the grim veteran, and said nothing. The pause was awkward; Mr. Squills broke it. "I should like," quoth he, "to see your Waterloo medal, you have it not about you?" "Mr. Squills," answered the Captain, "it lies next to my heart while I live.
The crusader fought for the tomb of Christ, but he saved the life of Christendom." My father paused. Squills was quite passive; he struggled no more, he was drowned. "So," resumed Mr.
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