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Updated: May 23, 2025
Thornton remained in his place in front of the rostrum. He noted who were running away. The deserters were the back-district voters the opposition among whom his enemies had prevailed. The villagers remained. Here and there among them walked Talleyrand Sylvester. He was unobtrusive and he spoke low, but he was earnest.
This proposal was unanimously agreed to. "The woof which I have spun," said Sylvester, producing a manuscript, "is composed of many threads, of the most various shades, and the question in my mind is whether on the whole you will think it has proper colour and keeping.
"Oh, certainly; trot 'em out," said his brother, plucking up a simulation of interest as he took a seat at the table. From a drawer of his desk Gabriel brought out a bundle of prospectuses and laid them before Uncle Sylvester. A languid smile of recognition lit up the latter's face. "Ah! yes," he said, glancing at them.
Her brother colored and seemed a bit disconcerted. "How should I know?" he muttered. "Is it something new about the estate or that man who owns it? You do know something! I can see it in your face. What is it?" "Nothing. How should I know what it is?" "But you do. I believe you do. Look at me! What does Mr. Sylvester want of us?" The boy hesitated; then whirled and faced her.
Sylvester told Mary that Mrs. Grubb was at that moment presiding over a meeting of the Kipling Brothers in Unity Hall, just round the corner. 'They meet Tuesdays and Thursdays at four o'clock, she said, 'and you'd find it a real treat if you like to step over there. 'Thank you, I am rather busy this afternoon, replied Mary. 'Do you wish to leave any name or message? Did you want a setting?
The trial ended in an acquittal, the prisoner had no sooner gained his liberty than he hastened to the recorder's house, and sent in word to Lady Sylvester that he was a constable and had been sent from the Old Bailey to fetch her husband's watch. When the recorder returned home and found he had lost his watch, it is to be feared that Lady Sylvester lost her usual equanimity.
"You have come in time, Clymer," his voice deepened, the voice of a man accustomed to present a case and sway a court. "Wait, Sylvester, sit at that table and take down these charges " "Charges?" questioned Kent, watching his partner narrowly; he tossed a stenographic pad to Sylvester and made a place for him at his desk. "Go on, Rochester; charges against whom?"
The coroner rapped sharply; but I had said what I wished to say, and sat down. The witnesses of the morning were ordered to be brought out. Sylvester arranged his ink-pad and sheets of paper. "It seems to me," remarked the coroner, with a smile, "that you and Mr. Godfrey would better register, too. You were within striking distance."
I lingered some time over my ablutions, hearing the languid, gentlemanly drawl of Sylvester below, mingled with the equally cool, easy slang of my mysterious acquaintance.
Such a nebular spot had been brightening in and about Boston for a number of years, when, in the year 1804, a small cluster of names became visible as representing a modest constellation of literary luminaries: John Thornton Kirkland, afterwards President of Harvard University; Joseph Stevens Buckminster; John Sylvester John Gardiner; William Tudor; Samuel Cooper Thacher; William Emerson.
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