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Garrick's Pupil By: Auguston Filon |
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GARRICK'S PUPIL.
GARRICK'S PUPIL By AUGUSTIN FILON Translated by
J. V. PRICHARD Illustrated
[Illustration]
CHICAGO
A. C. McCLURG & COMPANY
1893
COPYRIGHT,
BY A. C. MCCLURG & CO.
A. D. 1893.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. PAINTER AND MODEL 7
II. A SUPPER AT SIR JOSHUA'S 22
III. LADY VEREKER'S BOUDOIR 33
IV. THE BROOKS CLUB 42
V. A STRANGE EDUCATION 58
VI. THE HOUSE IN TOTHILL FIELDS 71
VII. CONFIDENCES 81
VIII. MR. FISHER'S SUBSTITUTE 97
IX. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 106
X. DEATH TO THE PAPISTS 117
XI. THE DAY OF DAYS 132
XII. THE MASQUERADE AT THE PANTHEON 143
XIII. MOWBRAY'S FOLLY AT CHELSEA 156
XIV. VAIN QUESTS 171
XV. SANCTUARY 184
XVI. GAMES OF DEATH AND CHANCE 194
XVII. HORACE AND SHAKESPEARE 208
CHAPTER I. PAINTER AND MODEL.
Just as the third hour of the afternoon had sounded from the belfry of
Saint Martin's in the Fields, a hackney coach drew up before the most
pretentious mansion upon the west side of Leicester Fields; and while
the coachman hastened to agitate the heavy door knocker, a young woman,
almost a child, sprang out upon the pavement without waiting to have the
shaky steps unfolded and lowered for her convenience. Her dust colored
mantle, disarranged by her rapid movements, revealed a rich costume
beneath; while the dazzled passer by might have caught a glimpse, amidst
the whiteness of the elevated skirts, of a tiny pair of red satin
slippers and two slender, exquisitely moulded ankles finely clad in
silken hose with embroidered clocks. The girl turned and assisted a more aged woman, leaning upon a
crutch headed cane, to descend. This lady wore the big straw bonnet and
gray gown of the Quaker persuasion, a rigidly simple costume, which
occasionally is becoming to extreme youth, but rarely enhances maturer
charms. It was one of those glorious days of the English springtide when life
seems endurable even to the hapless, grateful even to the invalid. A
bland breeze rustled the branches of the grand old trees which in double
rows framed the open square. Several children were at play upon the
spacious grass plot, which was intersected by diagonal paths of yellow
sand. The square was silent, and slept in the voluptuous warmth of the
perfect afternoon; but from the north side came the bustle and confusion
that resembled the turmoil of some festival. It was the continuous din
of the two tides of life which here meet and cross each other, the one
surging from Covent Garden and Chancery Lane, the other from Piccadilly
and St. James's. Pedestrians and horsemen, coaches and sedan chairs,
went to make up a glittering, varied hodgepodge, amidst which
flower girls and newsboys fought their way, together with the venders of
"hot buns." Gentlemen saluted with exaggerated gesture, pressing their
cocked hats to their breasts and affectedly inclining their heads
towards their right shoulder; while the ladies fluttered their fans and
nodded the edifices of flowers and feathers which served in lieu of a
head dress. The intoxicating odor of iris powder, of benzoin, bergamot,
and patchouli floated upon the air. The beggars leaning against the
railing of the square and the Irish chairmen indolently smoking their
pipes, for whom life is but a spectacle, watched the passage of others'
happiness... Continue reading book >>
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