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Francis Jackson Garrison, William Lloyd Garrison, 1805-1879; the story of his life told by his children: volume 3, Chapter 1: re-formation and Reanimation.—1841. (search)
able accession to the apostles Lib. 12.11. of abolition. One other glimpse of Mr. Garrison's lecturing at this period must suffice. We bargained last year, wrote N. P. Rogers in his Herald of Freedom for October 1, 1841, Writings of N. P. Rogers, p. 167. with our beloved fellow-traveller Garrison, in the Scottish Highlands, either on Loch Katrine, on board the barge rowed by McFarlan and his three Highlanders, or else as we rode the Shetland ponies from Katrine to Loch Lomond, through Rob Roy's country, and along his native heath, and when we were gazing upward at the mist-clad mountains, that if ever we lived to get home again to our dear New England, we would go and show him New Hampshire's sterner and loftier summits, her Haystacks and her White Hills, and their Alpine passes. Released from the extra care of editing the Standard by Lib. 11.78. the consenting of David Lee and Lydia Maria Child to Lib. 11.75. conduct the new organ of the American Society, They reached thi
Francis Jackson Garrison, William Lloyd Garrison, 1805-1879; the story of his life told by his children: volume 3, Chapter 11: George Thompson, M. P.—1851. (search)
a fellow in sight, and he would be arrested by 1 o'clock. Our friend lounged carelessly away, told what he'd heard, and by 12 the poor fellow described was steaming it on iron lines to Canada. Another, at work on a wharf, came out of his employer's store, Lib. 21.35. saw his old master before him, heard him whistle, thought that was as much of such music as he cared to wait for, dived into the cellar, up the back door, and has not been heard tell of, as Baillie Nicol Jarvie says, since. Rob Roy. There have been several as close escapes as that, and there are still quite a number of Southerners here. It is said privately that all they want is one from Boston, to show the discontented ones at home that it can be done; and our merchants groan at the trade they lose by the hatred the South bears us because she has not yet brought Boston under. Our business streets are markedly quiet. But we hope the same spirit is alive as laughed to scorn the mother country shutting up our ha