‘Too late by the time I realised to what a dunderhead I’d
pledged my friendship. “But Sir John?” he exclaimed. How can he help you?”
She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his
heart beat to music. Accordingly, he was introduced to the two military aspirants
at the Cross Shovels in the Mint, by our old acquaintance, Baptist Kettleby. "Here's the door. ”
“Are you afraid?”
“Only for you! Most of my income will vanish. Here the ribs of a thousand pounds beating against the Needles—
those dangerous rocks, credulity here floated, to and fro, silks, stuffs, camlets,
and velvet, without giving place to each other, according to their dignity; here
rolled so many pipes of canary, whose bungholes lying open, were so damaged
that the merchant may go hoop for his money," A less picturesque, but more
truthful, and, therefore, more melancholy description of the same scene, is
furnished by the shrewd and satirical Ned Ward, who informs us, in the
"Delectable History of Whittington's College," that "When the prisoners are
disposed to recreate themselves with walking, they go up into a spacious room,
called the Stone Hall; where, when you see them taking a turn together, it would
puzzle one to know which is the gentleman, which the mechanic, and which the
beggar, for they are all suited in the same garb of squalid poverty, making a
spectacle of more pity than executions; only to be out at the elbows is in fashion
here, and a great indecorum not to be threadbare. I
have proofs of many things that can endanger you. Shortly afterwards,—it seemed an age to the anxious mother,—Mr. ‘She’s gone.
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This video was uploaded to flood-rescue.com on 02-07-2024 23:47:57