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Updated: June 15, 2025
Salus populi suprema lex is a maxim susceptible of great abuse, but it has that force which we find elsewhere only in the laws of nature: I mean it has the force of necessity. I will open this out to you, if you will allow me, at more length. Balfour's. You would have me to believe Breck innocent. I would think this of little account, the more so as we cannot catch our man.
"Kidnapped" followed; a story founded on the Appan murder. David Balfour, the hero, was one of his own ancestors; Alan Breck had actually lived, and the Alison who ferried Alan and David over to Torryburn was one of Cummie's own people.
I needed the work; it was respectable; Breck was in England; a hundred and twenty-five dollars a month; my trunk almost empty. "Well," I said, "I need a position as badly as you seem to need a secretary, Mrs. Sewall. We might try each other anyway. I'll think it over. I won't decide now. I will let you know by five o'clock this afternoon." I accepted the position. Mrs.
Samuel Breck records in his diary that he conversed with Daniel Webster in Philadelphia, March 24, 1827, upon the prospects of the government. "Sir," said Mr. Webster, "if General Jackson is elected, the government of our country will be overthrown; the judiciary will be destroyed; Mr. Justice Johnson will be made Chief-Justice in the room of Mr.
I had a great deal of difficulty with the rose; so after struggling for about half an hour I got up and, unobserved, put the rose behind the vase, so that only its stem was visible to me. Then I took a fresh page and began again. The result was a very fair portrayal of the articles as they then appeared. I explained all this to Breck one day. I wanted to be honest with him.
She heard disquieting things, I am sure, from Cousin Robert Breck, who had become more and more querulous since the time-honoured firm of Breck and Company had been forced to close its doors and the home at Claremore had been sold. My mother often spent the day in the scrolled suburban cottage with the coloured glass front door where he lived with the Kinleys and Helen....
Paret, the Breck's physician and friend; the Durretts and the Hambletons, iron-masters; the Hollisters, Sherwins, the McAlerys and Ewanses, Breck connections, the Willetts and Ogilvys; in short, everyone of importance in the days between the 'thirties and the Civil War.
They all called him "Robert," and they made it clear by their manner that they knew they were addressing one who fulfilled his obligations and asked no favours. Crusty old Nathaniel Durrett once declared that when you bought a bill of goods from Robert Breck you did not have to check up the invoice or employ a chemist. Here was a character to mould upon.
They checked in thirteen and eight-tenths seconds minus on the station, and a fiery dialogue ensued when the computer questioned the accuracy of the location of the station and refused point-blank to correct his course. "Well, Breck, old onion, that tears it," Stevens declared as he unplugged. "No use going any further on these bum reference points.
The following are the names and present ages of the survivors: Samuel Breck, eighty-nine; S. Palmer, eighty; S. F. Smith, eighty; Charles N. Bancker, eighty-four; Quentin Campbell, eighty-four; and John F. Watson, the annalist of Philadelphia and New York, eighty-one.
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