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Johnson," why is Mr. Wogan "Mr. Hilton"; and why, oh why, am I in danger of my life and liberty, and in peril of my immortal soul? George Kelly ceased to minister to souls he has adopted the more lucrative profession of a lace merchant. There's some secrecy no doubt in his comings and goings, but that is because he is most honourably engaged in defrauding the revenue. The sight alarmed Nicholas Wogan, since he knew the movement to be a premonition of tears. Thirteen shillings have I paid for letters in one day.

Laces, forsooth! It is hempen ropes the poor gentleman travels in, and never was a man so eager to fit them to his own neck. Sobs tore her ample bosom, her soft frame quivered like a jelly. Never did Mr. Wogan find his intimate knowledge of the sex of more inestimable value. He crossed the room; he took one plump hand into his left palm and gently cherished it with his right.

The tears diminished to a whimpering. He cooed a compliment into Mrs. Barnes's ear, 'A little white dove of a hand in a brown nest, my dear woman,' said he, and affectionately tweaked her ear. Even the whimpering ceased, but ceased under protest! For Mrs. Barnes began to speak again. Wogan, however, kissed the tearful eyes and sealed them in content. At nine o'clock to the minute the chaise drove up to the door. Kelly took a stroll along the street to see the coast was clear; Mrs.

Barnes was in two minds whether to weep at losing her lodgers, or to smile at their prospects of security, and compromised between her emotions by indulging them alternately; and finally the two friends in burgess dress entered the chaise and drove off.


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Wogan thrust his head half out of the window, the better to take his fill of the cool night air, but drew it back something of the suddenest at the corner where Ryder Street debouches into St. Parson Kelly leaned cautiously forward, and under an oil-lamp above the porch of a door he saw Captain Montague. The Captain was standing in an indecisive attitude, tapping with his stick upon the pavement and looking up and down the street. A Whig and a gentleman!

But it's a contradiction in terms. Whigging is a nasty insupportable trade, and infects a man like a poison. A Whig is a sort of third sex by itself that combines all the failings of the other two. However, this time it was evident that Captain Montague had taken no note of Nicholas Wogan. He could not but reflect how it was at this very spot that he had come upon the captain before, and mighty glad he was when the lights of Knightsbridge had sunk behind them, and they were driving betwixt the hedgerows.

Then at one spring he jumped to the top of his spirits. Put me out on a good road at night and the whole universe converses with me on the most familiar terms. Perhaps it's a bush that throws out a tendril and says, "Smell that, you devil, and good luck to you.


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  6. Only wait a moment, and we'll show you a bit of a moon that'll make a poet of you. For you'll have all this, and the hiss of the water under your lee besides, and the little bubbles dancing on the top. But Kelly made little or no reply, being sunk in the consideration of some difficulty. For two days he remained closeted with his trouble, and it was not until they had got to Worcester that he discovered it.

    They changed horses at the 'Dog and Turk' and drove through the town under the Abbey clock. But what of my lady? Wogan crossed his legs and laughed comfortably. Here was matter with which he could confidently deal. She is a kinswoman of Mr.

    Kelly Parsons, PhD

    How shall we be sure of her at all? A woman, Nick, is a creature who walks in the byways of thought.

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    How shall an obtuse man follow her? I'll make your conduct plain to you as the palm of my hand. In the first place, there was never a woman yet from Cleopatra downwards that cared the scrape of a fiddle for politics. D'you think it's the Cause they ever give a thought to? If you do you're sadly out, my friend.

    No; what troubles their heads is simply that the Chevalier is a romantical figure of a man, and would look extraordinarily well with a gold crown on the top of his periwig. Now I'm wagering it will be just the same with my Lady Oxford. You have all the qualifications down to your legs, and let my lady once take a liking to your person she will gulp your politics without a grimace. Pen her a delicate ode in Latin.

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    To be sure the addresses of an erudite man have something particularly flattering to the sex. Or drop out a pretty compliment on her ear. For instance—,' said he, and hummed a little. I am to tell her that it is a very proper thing for a woman to sit and listen to other people. Tell her there is never a poet laureate in the world would print a single one of his poems if he could treasure his music within her ear. I must have more sayings about her ear. She will just perceive that you intend a compliment.

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    For he had nothing in common with that usual foible of the young chaplains and tutors who frequent the houses of the great. To listen to them over a bottle you would think them conquerors of all hearts, from the still-room maid to my lady and her daughters. Kelly was in a different case. The Bishop of Rochester himself gave him the character of being prudent and reserved beyond his years. And perhaps it was by reason of that very modesty that he slid insensibly into the thoughts of more women than he knew of. Of these, however, Lady Oxford was not one.

    It was about three in the afternoon of the next day when the chaise drove up to the door of the great house at Brampton Bryan. The Parson and Nicholas Wogan had barely stepped into the hall before an inner door opened and my lady came forward to greet them. She was for her sex uncommonly tall, and altogether of a conquering beauty, which a simple country dress did but the more plainly set forth. For, seeing her, one thought what a royal woman she would look if royally attired, and so came to a due appreciation of her consummate appearance.

    Whereas, had she been royally attired, her dress might have taken some of the credit of her beauty. She stood for a second between the two men, looking from one to the other as though in doubt. She gave him a smile and her hand. Kelly clicked his heels together, bent over the hand and kissed it reverentially. Hilton, with me,' and he waved a hand towards Wogan. Hilton,' she returned, 'is very welcome.

    Parson Kelly by A.E.W. Mason

    For, indeed, we hear too few voices in the house. Else would he have welcomed you in person. And if for a couple of days my poor hospitality will content you—'. Now, to Mr. Wogan's thinking, here was as timely an occasion for a compliment as a man could wish. And since Mr. Kelly had not the tact to seize it, why, his friend must come to his help. As he bowed he heard some stifled sounds, and he looked up quickly.

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    My lady was crimson in the face with the effort to check her laughter. Hilton is too polite,' said she instantly, with an elaborate courtesy, and turned again to Kelly with some inquiries about his journey. Wogan was shown up the stairs before the inquiries were answered. The staircase ran round the three sides of the hall up to a landing on the fourth, and as Wogan came to the first turn he saw Lady Oxford cross to the great wood fire which was burning on the hearth; when he came to the second he saw that the Parson had crossed too and stood over against her; when he reached the third turn, my lady was seated toasting a foot at the blaze; when he reached the landing, Mr.

    Kelly had drawn up a chair. Wogan leaned for a moment over the balustrade. It was a very small foot with an admirably arched instep; Mr. Wogan had seen the like in Spain.