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Updated: June 15, 2025
But understanding and belief are one thing, and legal evidence is another." "What was it your business?" Judson stormed. My father rose and, going to his cabinet, he took from an inner drawer a folded yellow bit of paper torn from a note book. Through the centre of it was a ragged little hole, the kind a bullet might have cut. "This," he said, "was in Whately's notebook. We found it in his pocket.
Whately's headlong temperament was so overcome by anger that he noted nothing except the presence of one whom he believed the aider and abetter in his great loss, for a favorite and trusty horse is one of the dearest possessions of a cavalryman. "Where's your grandson?" he demanded, fiercely. "'Fo' de Lawd, I dunno," gasped Aun' Jinkey. "The truth, now, or you'll be sorry." "I dunno, I dunno.
Dodd correcting the mechanical errors in a drawing of Julia's, and admiring the rare dash and figure, and Julia doggedly studying Dr. Whately's Logic, with now and then a sigh, when suddenly a trumpet seemed to articulate in the little hall: "Mestress Doedd at home ?" The lady rose from her seat, and said with a smile of pleasure, "I hear a voice."
"Attend to Lieutenant Whately's supper and see that he has the best you can get for him." "Yassum." Mrs. Baron then repaired to her husband's office, where he and Surgeon Ackley were closeted, making up the accounts relating to the occupation of the property for hospital purposes. Maynard lighted his pipe, and strolled out into the grounds. He was in a cold, deadly mood of anger.
A recoil from Whately's hard and barren dialectics, a sympathy with many tender and refined natures which the movement had touched, made the leaders patient with intellectual feebleness when it was joined with real goodness and Christian temper; but this also sometimes made them less impatient than they might well have been with that curious form of conceit and affectation which veils itself under an intended and supposed humility, a supposed distrust of self and its own powers.
Any attempt to classify them as a whole, is apt to resemble Whately's illustration of illogical division "e.g., if you were to divide 'book' into 'poetical, historical, folio, quarto, French, Latin," &c.
Indeed, to the older of the young friends who favor me by reading these pages I can give no better advice, by the way, than that they read "Whately's Rhetoric." Read ten pages a day, then turn back, and read them carefully again, before you put the book by.
Terry, a daughter of Mr. Whately's, who lately offered a proposal of her sister for a wife for my brother Tom, and with her we discoursed about and agreed to go to her mother this afternoon to speak with her, and in the meantime went to Will.
His Historic Doubts relative to Napoleon Bonaparte was an exceedingly clever "skit" on the Rationalist position in regard to miracles and biblical criticism generally; though Whately's orthodoxy was none of the strictest.
Whately's still good-looking most ways. She was always a pretty, winsome-faced woman. "You've got a plenty and getting more all the time. You could provide handsome for her the rest of her life. You'd enjoy a second wife, an' she'd be out of my way. You see it, don't you? I'll marry Marjie, an' you marry her mother, kind of double wedding. Whew! but we'd make a fine couple of grooms.
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