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Updated: June 19, 2025
Of these, he ordered out a party under Capt. Gavin Witherspoon to reconnoitre. While they were absent, Marion put his infantry in order of battle. The main body occupied an avenue of venerable cedars, which, neglected during the war, in their untrimmed state, stood overgrown with branches, their long boughs trailing almost to the ground.
We both rose, and going towards her, Mr Witherspoon said, "For the love of God have compassion on two famishing Christians." The old woman stopped, and, looking round, gazed at us for a space of time, with a countenance of compassionate reverence. "Hech, sirs!" she then said; "and has it come to this, that a minister of the Gospel is obligated to beg an almous frae Janet Armstrong?"
"Oh, it's nothing to me," Witherspoon replied, "and I didn't suppose that it was so much to the rest of you. How I do miss that old man!" he added after musing for a few moments. "The peculiar laugh he had when pleased became a very distressing cough whenever he fancied that his expenses were running too high, and every day I am startled by some noise that sounds like his hack, hack!
"Your mother and sister think you a very wonderful man, and my dear friend Witherspoon" "Brother Colton is from Maryland," Witherspoon remarked. Colton laughed and ducked his head. Ah, the listless wit of the rich! It may be pointless, but how laughable is the millionaire's joke. "But, my dear young man, we are determined to have you with us," Colton declared, when he had recovered himself.
Her class will be larger and worse off, probably, a hundred years after you are dead." "Yes, but before that time her class may rise up and sweep everything before it. A democracy can't long permit a few men to hold all the wealth. But there's no good to come from a discussion with you." "You are right," said Witherspoon, "but hold on a moment.
A mother may plan the marriage of her daughter, for that is romantic, but she looks with an anxious eye upon the marriage of her son, for that is serious. One evening, when Witherspoon and Henry had gone into the library to smoke, the merchant remarked: "I want, to talk to you about the course of your paper." "All right, sir." The merchant stood on the hearth-rug.
Then another, who had stopped to fasten the invisible boat underneath, joined them in haste, and all three fled round the corner. The elderly seamen had watched them severely. "It used to cost but a ninepence to get a bar'l from Boston by sea," said Captain Crowe, in a melancholy tone; "and now it costs twenty-five cents by the railroad, sir." In reply Captain Witherspoon shook his head gloomily.
"Of course there is a bottom," remarked the naturalist, who had been watching the boys curiously; "but in some places I've been unable to reach it with the longest pole I could manage." "Have we passed that dangerous place you were telling us about, sir?" asked Mr. Witherspoon. "No, it is still some little distance ahead," came the reply.
What an impressive funeral was his on that bright October afternoon, in 1851, when two hundred ministers gathered in that Westminster Abbey of Presbyterianism, the Princeton Cemetery! His ashes slumber beside those of Witherspoon, Davies, Hodge, McCosh and Jonathan Edwards.
"Aristocracy hampered by extreme stinginess would cut but a poor figure, I should think." "Have we set up a grill here?" Henry asked. Mrs. Witherspoon nodded at Ellen as if to emphasize the rebuke, and the young woman exclaimed: "Oh, I'm singled out, am I? Who said that the old man's 'hah, hah, was tiresome? You'd better nod at your son, mother." But she gave her son never a nod.
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