The Smuggler: A Tale. Volumes I-IIIJames, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
General
The Smuggler: A Tale. Volumes I-III
James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
England -- Social life and customs -- 18th century -- Fiction; Kent (England) -- Fiction; Smugglers -- Fiction
"No, no!" answered Zara, blushing again. "Do not tease me. You do not
know how soon, when a woman is agitated, she is made to weep. My
father is out, indeed," she added, in a gayer tone, "so that I should
have time to bathe my eyes before dinner, which will be half an hour
later than usual; but I should not like my aunt to tell him that I
have been taking a crying walk with Sir Edward Digby."
"Heaven forbid that I should ever give you cause for a tear!" answered
the young baronet; and then, with a vague impression that he was doing
something very like making love, he added, "but let us return to the
house, or perhaps we may have your aunt seeking us."
"The most likely thing in the world," replied Zara; and taking their
way back, they passed through the gardens and entered the house by one
of the side doors.
CHAPTER XIII.
It was a custom of those days, I believe, not altogether done away
with in the present times, for magistrates to assemble in petty
sessions, or to meet at other times for the dispatch of any
extraordinary business, in tavern, public-house, or inn--a custom more
honoured in the breach than the observance, except where no other
place of assembly can be found. It thus happened that, on the day of
which we have been speaking, some half-dozen gentlemen, all justices
of the peace for the county of Kent, were gathered together in a
good-sized room of the inn, at the little town of * * * * * . There
was a table drawn across the room, at which was placed the
magistrates' clerk, with sundry sheets of paper before him, several
printed forms, and two books, one big and the other little. The
magistrates themselves, however, were not seated in due state and
dignity, but, on the contrary, were in general standing about and
talking together, some looking out of the window into the street, some
leaning with their backs against the table and the tails of their
coats turned over their hands, while one occupied an arm-chair placed
sideways at the board, with one knee thrown over the other--a
favourite position which he could not have assumed had he sat with his
face to the table.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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