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Sir Henry Wotton was born four years after Shakspeare, and died twenty-three years after him; and I find, among his correspondents and acquaintances, the following persons: Theodore Beza, Isaac Casaubon, Sir Philip Sidney, the Earl of Essex, Lord Bacon, Sir Walter Raleigh, John Milton, Sir Henry Vane, Isaac Walton, Dr.
He was as much interested in Miss Walton as in what she was saying, and when her words proved that she was a thoughtful woman, and could be the intelligent companion of any man, the distracting fear grew stronger that when she came to know him well, she would coldly stand aloof. The very thought was unendurable.
In all the world, only in the direction of Annie Walton seemed there any light for him. So to gain time he instinctively sought to give a less serious turn to the conversation, by saying, "Come, Miss Walton, this is the best preaching I've ever heard. It seems to me quite unusual to find a young lady so interested and well versed in these matters.
He had in his employ a young man of eighteen, named Abner Kimball, to whom he was compelled to pay ten dollars a month. Harry, he reckoned, could be made to do about as much, though on account of his youth he had offered him but two dollars, and that not to be paid in cash. Mr. Walton paused before replying to his proposal. "You're a little too late," he said, at last, to Harry's great relief.
"I think I would do the latter, if permitted." "I know you would, from your course last night. And do you think Jesus would say, 'Because you are not an emotional man like Peter, you are no friend of mine'? Why, Mr. Gregory, He let even Judas Iscariot, though with unworthy motive, follow Him as long as he would, giving him a chance to become true." "Miss Walton, do not mislead me in this matter.
Now I'm going to live to be strong and well, forever and ever. So don't grieve, but rather rejoice with me." The old man sat musing a moment, and then said softly to himself, "This is what the Scripter means when it tells about the 'death of the righteous." "Yes," continued Mr. Walton, though more feebly; "and the Scripture is true. The dear Lord doesn't desert His people.
It opened with a quick inward thrust and Susan Walton walked in. She carried her everlasting little black reticule in one hand, and in the other she held of all things in this world an empty brown-linen laundry bag, swinging by the strings! "Good morning, Mr.
An elderly man had charge of it a Mr. Parmenter. "Can I take out a book?" asked Harry. "Do you live in town?" "Yes, sir." "I don't remember seeing you before. You don't live in this village, do you?" "No, sir. I live in the lower village." "What is your name?" "Harry Walton." "I don't remember any Walton family." "My father lives in Granton. I am working for Mr. James Leavitt."
We must now transfer the scene to the Walton homestead. It looks very much the same as on the day when the reader was first introduced to it. There is not a single article of new furniture, nor is any of the family any better dressed. Poverty reigns with undisputed sway. Mr. Walton is reading a borrowed newspaper by the light of a candle for it is evening while Mrs.
Young Shaw, who has a mania for the nervous system, sent a long account up to Sime, who suffers from a similar form of aberration." "Yes; Sime 'phoned me." "It's nothing to do with nerves," said Walton contemptuously. "Don't ask me to explain it, but it's certainly no nerve case." "One of the other patients " "My dear chap, the other patients were all fast asleep!
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