Contents:
Jane Austen and Her Times. George Cruikshank Mobi Classics. A Book of Scoundrels. The Celestial Omnibus and Other Stories. A Moral Tale Though Gay. The Way of All Flesh. The Mary Elizabeth Braddon Collection.
Works of Charlotte Mary Yonge. The Autobiographical Works of Wilkie Collins. Agnes Grey by Anne Bronte Illustrated.
Real Life In London. John Badcock Pierce Egan. The Book of Snobs. Tales from the Terrific Register: The Book of London. Mudfog and Other Sketches. Paul Clifford, Volume 1. The Mysteries of London Complete. George William MacArthur Reynolds. Travels in England in Tales of Angria - Complete Edition. Dynevor Terrace, Or the Clue of Life, both volumes in a single file.
The Works of William Hogarth. The Night Side of London. Six Books by Max Beerbohm. The Mysteries of London Vol 2 of 4. The Lord Of The Manor. Casanova de Seingalt Jacques. Goddess of the Hunt. When Leto met Zeus. Wild Goddess of the Hunt. Entertainment Weekly has revealed the cover to the next volume of olympians, hermes talesofthetrickster. Retrieved from " https: Living people births. Views Read Edit View history.
Chumleigh was to pay me three-and-sixpence a week for the child, and he owed me over three pounds, when my good man lost patience, and threatened to throw the child into the street if I didn't get rid of it civilly. I was to deliver it back to its father, or take it to the constable. So I had no help but to tell Mr. Chumleigh he must fetch the child away, and I told him so point-blank the next time he came to see the little one.
He was shabbier than ever, poor soul, and he looked pinched and hungry.
I'd rather have offered him a dinner than flung his child upon his hands, but my good man was sitting in the parlour there, listening to every word I said; so I just told Mr. Chumleigh I could hold out no longer, he must just take the child and go about his business. He looked very sorrowful, and then he seemed to recover himself in a minute, and threw up his head with a proud air, as if he had been a nobleman.
Fortune must turn at last for the most miserable of us. I've a rich relation in the country. I must plod down to him and ask for a home for my motherless one. Sure he can't resist these sweet eyes. Remember, the poor gentleman owed us over three guineas.
But I am not here to reproach you, madam. I came for information, and I thank you for having given it me so freely. He tried to learn more of Chumleigh's character and circumstances, but here Mrs. Wagstaff's information was of the most limited order. The broken-down gentleman had been singularly silent about his past life. Wagstaff only knew that he was a gentleman, and this knowledge she had by intuition, not being versed in the ways of gentlefolks, but finding in this one something that was not in the commonality.
Herrick went back to London feeling very well satisfied with his morning's work, though it would not seem that he had learnt much from nurse Wagstaff. The tamest lover would hardly endure prolonged severance from his mistress without making some efforts to see her, were it but for the briefest space; and although Herrick did not intend to steal the heiress from her father's custody, he was, on the other hand, determined not to languish in perpetual absence.
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By fair means or foul he must contrive a meeting; and he had by this time placed himself on such a friendly footing with the gardener's wife, Mrs. Chitterley, that he was sure of allegiance and help from all her family. So, one fair May morning, there came a pedlar, with his pack of books on his shoulders and a stout oak sapling in his hand, thick shoes whitened by dust, a shabby suit of linsey woolsey, and brown worsted stockings — a pedlar of swarthy complexion, and eyes obscured by green spectacles in heavy copper rims.
The pedlar turned into the lodge at Fairmile before approaching the house, and conversed for some minutes with Mrs. Chitterley, who was very much at her ease with him; for scarcely had he spoken three words before she discovered that this dusty hawker was the London gentleman, Lord Lavendale's friend, who had been so liberal in his bounties to her and her children. Chitterley; but do you think the good people up at the house yonder will recognise me? I never dreamt 'twas you. He had excelled as a mimic in days gone by, and now he adopted the manner of an old college chum, whose peculiar utterance he had been wont to imitate.
But I hope to find Mrs. Bosworth in the garden with her gouvernante , and then I need not go to the house at all.
He tramped along the avenue, struck off to the right hand before he reached the house, and made his way by a by-path to a little gate in a holly hedge, by which he entered the garden. All Squire Bosworth's old family plate was laid up in safe keeping at his goldsmith's, and the approaches to Fairmile Court were not over-jealously guarded. Herrick knew his way about the gardens. He had walked there last summer in the sweet sunset leisure of after dinner, when he and Lavendale were the Squire's honoured guests, Mr.
Bosworth never suspecting that his lordship's companion could be his rival.
He knew all Irene's favourite nooks and corners, and where to look for her. He found her sitting under a cedar which Evelyn of Wootton had planted with his own hands, an enduring evidence of that accomplished gentleman's friendship for Squire Bosworth's grandfather. She was not alone, but, instead of her usual companion and governess, she had Mrs.
Bridget, the nurse, who was sitting on a little wooden stool, knitting a stocking, while Irene sat on the grass close by, with an open book in her lap.
Now it happened that, next to Irene herself, Bridget, the nurse, was the person whom Herrick most ardently desired to see. But Irene had started, to her feet.