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Updated: May 16, 2025
Richmond Taggart preaching to a handful of believers. In 1833, the First Baptist society was formally organized with twenty-seven members, Moses White and Benjamin Rouse, who still live in the city, being of the original deacons. In 1836, their first church, on the corner of Seneca and Champlain streets, was dedicated with a sermon by the Rev.
But about this time I began to see very clearly that it was impossible that our connection should prove of long duration; yet, in the event of my leaving the big man, what other resource had I another publisher? But what had I to offer? There were my ballads, my Ab Gwilym, but then I thought of Taggart and his snuff, his pinch of snuff.
After this service he again volunteered in Captain William Alexander's company, Colonel Irwin's regiment, watching the movements of the enemy. About two miles south of Charlotte, Lieutenant James Taggart captured two wagons loaded with valuable supplies from Camden for the British army, then encamped near the former place.
He wheeled Blackleg and, with glowering eyes and straightened lips, rode him back the way he had come, halting often and peering into shadows. By the time he arrived at the spot where he had first seen the horse and rider he had become convinced that Taggart had secreted himself until he had passed him and had then ridden over the back trail, later to return to the Arrow by a circuitous route.
One mile, two, three, he rode at a breakneck pace, and then suddenly he was out of the timber and facing a plain that stretched into an interminable distance. The trail lay straight and clear; there was no sign of a horse and rider on it. Taggart had not come in this direction, though in this direction lay the Arrow.
Taggart, said he to the man who sat at the desk, 'this is our excellent correspondent, the friend and pupil of our other excellent correspondent. The pale, shrivelled-looking man slowly and deliberately raised his head from the account-book, and surveyed me for a moment or two; not the slightest emotion was observable in his countenance.
Lately he was developing a vacillating will; whenever he meditated any action with regard to Betty he had an inclination to defer it. He postponed a decision now; he would think it over again. Before he made up his mind on that question he wanted to enjoy her discomfiture and confusion over the loss of the diagram. He had lost all thought of pursuing Taggart.
Mac Taggart, a lively Scotch civil engineer, who wrote, in 1829, an amusing work, entitled "Three Years in Canada," was even more sanguine on this subject; and, as he was a clerk of works on the Rideau Canal, naturally turned his attention to the practicability of opening a road by water, by the lakes and rivers, to Nootka Sound. Two thousand miles of water road by the Ottawa, the St.
She grew rigid and drew a deep, quivering breath, for she saw that the pistol was still in his hand. "What are you going to do?" she asked. "I reckon old Taggart will still be waitin' in the timber grove," he said with a short, grim laugh. "They've bothered me enough. I'm goin' to send him where I sent his coyote son." At that word she was close to him, her hands on his shoulders.
And if, as you tell me, there is some mercurial perchloride, Taggart and the Medical Staff will jump for joy. What we owe to Lister, Koch, and those fellows! You'd say so if you'd ever seen gangrene on War Hospital scale in Afghanistan, in 1880, even as recently as the Zululand Campaign of 1888.
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