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Updated: June 28, 2025
"I have something to tell you, Patricia," he said, abandoning all badinage. "I hate to do it but it is right for you, for myself, for Adrien, and by Jove for poor old Jack, too. Though, perhaps well, let that go." "Oh, Vic!" cried Patricia. "It is about the note!" "Yes, Patricia. That note was given by Jack to Sam Wigglesworth, who gave it to Rupert Stillwell." "And he forgot?" gasped Patricia.
Wigglesworth," replied I, after a moment's pause, for the abruptness of the question had somewhat startled me "to be quite sincere with you, I care little or nothing about a stone for my own grave, and am somewhat inclined to scepticism as to the propriety of erecting monuments at all over the dust that once was human.
Ay, it was no that bad," replied his mother with cautious approval. "What about his view of the Sabbath?" "What about it? Wad ye no lift a sheep oot o' the muck on the Sawbath?" "A would, of course," replied Malcolm. "Weel, what?" "A was jist thinkin' o' Mr. Wigglesworth this morning." "Yon man!" "You were rather hard on him this morning', eh, Mither?" "Hard on him?
Perchance her consciousness was truer than her reflection, perchance her dead sister was a closer companion than in life. The mother and daughter talked a long while with Mr. Wigglesworth about a suitable epitaph, and finally chose an ordinary verse of ill-matched rhymes, which had already been inscribed upon innumerable tombstones.
He had specialised in Social and Economic Science in his University Course and she considered him sound "in the main." She had little patience with half baked theorists and none at all with mere agitators. It was therefore with no small indignation that she saw on a Sunday morning Mr. Wigglesworth making his way up the lane toward her house door. "The Lord be guid tae us!" she exclaimed.
However this may have been, the good man he celebrated was a notable instance of the Angelical Conjunction, as the author of the "Magnalia" calls it, of the offices of clergyman and medical practitioner. Michael Wigglesworth, author of the "Day of Doom," attended the sick, "not only as a Pastor, but as a Physician too, and this, not only in his own town, but also in all those of the vicinity."
Wigglesworth an entertaining, and often instructive, if not an interesting character; and partly for the charm of his society, and still more because his work has an invariable attraction for "man that is born of woman," I was accustomed to spend some hours a day at his workshop.
"Aw, steady up, man. There's naethin' much wrang wi' the lad a wee scratch on the heid frae fa'in' against the fence yonder." "Who 'it 'im, I say?" shouted Mr. Wigglesworth. "Was it you?" he added, squaring up to the young man. "No, it wasn't, Mr. Wigglesworth. It was me." Mr.
Wigglesworth and rather abashed him. "What is it, Mother?" Malcolm's voice indicated a desire to appease the wrath that gleamed in his mother's eye. "Oh, it is Mr. Wigglesworth. Yes, yes! I want to see Mr. Wigglesworth. Will you come in, Mr. Wigglesworth?" "Malcolm, A was jist tellin' Mr. Wigglesworth " "Yes, yes, I know, Mother, but I want " "Malcolm, ye ken what day it is. And A wull not "
"With great regret I must report," his letter to the School Board ran, "that in the case of Samuel Wigglesworth I have somehow failed to inculcate the elementary principles of obedience to school regulations and of adherence to truth in speech.
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