Beauchamp; or, The Error.James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
History
Beauchamp; or, The Error.
James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
Great Britain -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction
She was not fond of any thing that
agitated her: and therefore, somewhat more abruptly than was
necessary, she broke through the conversation that was going on
saying:
"Mr. Beauchamp, Mary and I have entered into a compact to go down and
see Captain Hayward win his bet."
"What bet?" asked Beauchamp, who had forgotten all about it.
"To catch the largest trout in the river before twelve o'clock,"
replied Isabella; "will you escort us? My dear aunt, won't you come
too?"
"No, my dear," answered Mrs. Clifford; "I have letters to write, too,
like your father."
"I have no letters to write," exclaimed Sir John Slingsby, somewhat
petulantly; "I wish I had nothing less pleasant to do; but I have to
see the steward and a damned lawyer about business--the greatest bores
on earth. I wish to Heaven Peter the Great had been but autocrat of
England for a bare month. Heaven and earth! how he would have thinned
the roll of attorneys!--or if we could but bring them under the
cutting and maiming act, what hanging and transporting we should have.
I am sure they cut up our time and our comforts, maim our property,
and cripple our resources. But the devil never abandons his own; and
so they slip out of every noose that is made to catch them. There's
that fellow, Stephen Gimlet, can make, they say, springes that will
catch woodcocks and snipes, hares, pheasants, partridges, ruffs, and
rees; hang me, if I don't ask him if he has not got any trap that will
strangle an attorney."
"If he fails, ask Ned Hayward," said Isabella, half jokingly, half
earnestly; "I have no doubt he would furnish you with what you want."
"Perhaps he would, perhaps he would," answered Sir John; "not a bad
thought, Bella; but hang it, I must go and see the steward before that
fellow Wharton comes. So good bye, good bye, for the present. Mind the
luncheon time; and if Ned loses and does not bring me home a trout of
at least three pounds, we'll drink his health in a bottle of the old
hermitage--get your shawls and bonnets, get your shawls and bonnets;
and now, Harriet, if you want to send over to your place, be quick
with your letters, for I have got a man going to Tarningham at
twelve."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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