This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1877 edition. Excerpt: ... Mrs. Bellamy. Your cousin means by thunder clouds, plots, Alice--plots which have their rise in Spain. Wllloughby. Calm yourself, Alice. Let not these reports distress you. A cloud of midges in the air--they bite, but rarely draw blood. No names are as yet given (nay, and if they were, it would ill ...
Read More
This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1877 edition. Excerpt: ... Mrs. Bellamy. Your cousin means by thunder clouds, plots, Alice--plots which have their rise in Spain. Wllloughby. Calm yourself, Alice. Let not these reports distress you. A cloud of midges in the air--they bite, but rarely draw blood. No names are as yet given (nay, and if they were, it would ill become me to divulge them), but from all I hear some dozen foolish boys are banded together in the interest of the Scottish queen, who hath in her nature so little prudence and reserve, as we know of old, that through indiscretion she will betray even her own friends. But these conspirators are but like mites in a cheese, which may help it to seethe and fester, but which change not its outward form. So silly women and boys can never alter the form of the State. We want for that the club of a giant and a master mind. Alice. Alas! poor misguided young gentlemen! Wllloughby. All we shall know of them in the after years, poor fools, will be their quarters hoisted to scare their fellows, and their heads rotting on Tyburn Gate. alice shudders. Mrs. Bellamy turning the subject). How did you travel from London? Alone? Wllloughby. Alone, save for my body-servant, and ill-mounted (for my horse cast a shoe on Hounslow Heath, and went lame from a flint), all through the desolate country between Bagshot and Blackwater, the wind wafting to my nostrils, ever and anon, the scent of the carrion swinging on Hartford Bridge Flats, set there to frighten other malefactors, who, nevertheless, still haunt this wild tract j so was I not displeased to fall in, near Basingstoke, with two gentlemen, well mounted and armed, attended by six servants, and with them I made some of my journey, parting company at Popham Lane, where the gentlemen were met with fresh horses...
Read Less