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Updated: May 15, 2025
Whately's, but she being going to dinner we went to Whitehall and there staid till past three, and here I understand by Mr. Moore that my Lady Sandwich is brought to bed yesterday of a young Lady, and is very well. So to Mrs.
It is unusual to place such books as Paley's Christian Evidences, or Archbishop Whately's Historic Doubts as to Napoleon Bonaparte, in the hands of little boys of twelve, with any expectation of a satisfactory result; yet we read them on Sundays, understood the point of them, and could explain the why and wherefore of them.
So I rashly blurted out my feelings and left her, never dreaming who had heard me nor what meaning my words would carry. Down at the Whately home Richard Tillhurst sat, bland and smiling, waiting for Miss Whately's return. I sat down to wait also. The August evening was dry and the day's hot air was rippling now into a slight breeze.
For these days of wearing grief to Mrs. Whately you can never atone. You and Tell, as I said a while ago, almost succeeded in your scheme at Washington. To my view this is infinitely worse than taking Irving Whately's property. "All this has been impersonal to me, except as the wrongs and sorrows of a friend can hurt. But I come now to my own personal interest.
To most of them it was an unexplored and misty region; some of the ablest, under the influence of Dr. Whately's vigorous and scornful discipline, had learned to slight it. But there it was. Whether it was read or not, its great names were pronounced with honour, and quoted on occasion.
All de so'ds ober flash kyant cut dat ar knot 'less dey kill Marse Whately." "Dat 'min's me ob someting ter'ble quar. Marse Scoville had he so'd pintin' right agin Mad Whately's neck en yit he ain' jab 'im. Dat same Mad Whately gwine ter mek a heap ob trouble fer he got clean off." "Marse Scoville know dat ef he kill a man right straight wid he own han' he spook come and mek a heap mo' trouble."
Whately's book, and the Lord knows what barbarism is going to be laid at our door. This new Anglomanie will literally be mad English. New arrêts, new retrenchments, new misery, stalk forth every day. The Parliament of Besançon is dissolved; so are the grenadiers de France. The King's tradesmen are all bankrupt; no pensions are paid, and everybody is reforming their suppers and equipages.
I did not come to you until armed with the consent of almost all the parties interested, because from you I anticipated considerable opposition," and in her delight, the young girl grasped Mr. Whately's hand, and shook it very heartily.
The readings embraced a small manual of logic, by Du Trieu, recommended by Mr. Mill, and reprinted for the purpose, Whately's Logic, Hobbes's Logic, and Hartley on Man, in Priestley's edition. The manner of proceeding was thorough. Each paragraph, on being read, was commented on by every one in turn, discussed and rediscussed, to the point of total exhaustion.
Mad Whately's anger, or that of others, was a little thing compared to the truth that men were dead and dying all about her. "Mother," said her son, "I had cursed luck last night. I wish I had slept on the rain-soaked ground near my prisoners," and he told her what had happened. "Oh, Madison!" sighed Mrs. Whately, "I wish this experience would teach you to be more guided by me.
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