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Belcher comfortably seated there, and stumped up the broad aisle in his shirt-sleeves, the amazement of the minister and the congregation may be imagined. If he had been one of his own insane paupers en deshabille he could not have excited more astonishment or more consternation. Mr. Snow stopped in the middle of a stanza of the first hymn, as if the words had dried upon his tongue.
Setting them upon the table, he took the key from the outside of the door, inserted it upon the inside, turned it, and then withdrew it, and put it in his pocket. Yates rose and watched him, his face pale, and his heart thumping at his side like a tilt-hammer. "Sam Yates," said Mr. Belcher, "you are getting altogether too virtuous. Nothing will cure you but a good, old-fashioned drunk.
Lord Percy's soldiers took counsel of it one hot April morning to find the road to Lexington. Governor Belcher set out a row of mile-stones from Boston Town House to his home in Milton. Some of them are still standing, the seventh and eighth in Milton, one marked "8 miles to B. Town House. The Lower Way, 1734."
Very good, very good! What shall I be next? Shall I be a convict in a felt hat and a grey suit, trotting about a dockyard with my number neatly embroidered on my uniform, and the order of the garter on my leg, restrained from chafing my ankle by a twisted belcher handkerchief? Shall I be that? Will that do, or is it too genteel? Whatever you please, have it your own way, of course.
You are old and sharp enough not to need any aid from me, and now be off." The man took a roll of bills that Mr. Belcher handed him, and walked out of the door without a word. As he rose to the sidewalk, Mr. Balfour came out of the door opposite to him, with the evident intention of taking a passing stage.
Belcher, giving him his left hand again. "I'll be 'round at twelve." Mr. Talbot went out, but instead of going to his office, went straight home, and surprised Mrs. Talbot by his sudden reappearance. "What on earth!" said she, looking up from a bit of embroidery on which she was dawdling away her morning. "Kate, who do you suppose is coming to New York to live?" "The Great Mogul."
All they want is money; they don't care where it comes from." "Toll, shut up. I behold a vision. Close your eyes now, and let me paint it for you. I see the General General Robert Belcher, the millionaire in the aspect of a great public benefactor. He is dressed in black, and sits upon a platform, in the midst of a lot of seedy men in white chokers. They hand him a programme.
"The nearest firewood was seven miles away and the men who went after it often returned badly frost-bitten. "Belcher, collecting customs, performing military as well as police duty on the summit, lived in the shack, which had all the discomforts of a shower-bath. Snow fell so thickly and so constantly that everything was damp and paper became mildewed.
Belcher went out upon Wall street, among his brokers, visited the Exchange, visited the Gold Room, jested with his friends, concocted schemes, called upon Talbot, wrote letters, and filled up his day.
It is neither Kean nor Belcher, and I have as yet done nothing to distinguish myself like either of those individuals, or even like my friend here. However, a time may come we are not yet buried; and whensoever my hour arrives, I hope I shall prove myself equal to my destiny, however high 'Like bird that's bred amongst the Helicons. And here a smile half theatrical passed over his features.
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