Monroe would lock the whole group of us in the basement, every day. We have seen pitted cheeks, which we would not exchange for dimples and a satin skin. On the same day, moreover, which, by a curious coincidence, was the birthday of the Chevalier de Saint George, mobs were collected together in the streets, and the health of that prince was publicly drunk under the title of James the Third; while, in many country towns, the bells were rung, and rejoicings held, as if for a reigning monarch:—the cry of the populace almost universally being, "No King George, but a Stuart!" The adherents of the Chevalier de Saint George, we have said, were lavish in promises to their proselytes. “I wonder if I’ve been properly brought up. It was at lunch when McClintock announced that in the mailpouch he had found a letter addressed to Howard Taber, care of Donald McClintock and so-forth. I put my foot down like—like adamant.
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