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    Paul Clifford — Volume 03
    Paul Clifford — Volume 03
    Paul Clifford — Volume 03
    Ebook97 pages1 hour

    Paul Clifford — Volume 03

    By Edward Bulwer-Lytton

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 15, 2013
    Paul Clifford — Volume 03
    Author

    Edward Bulwer-Lytton

    Edward Bulwer-Lytton, engl. Romanschriftsteller und Politiker, ist bekannt geworden durch seine populären historischen/metaphysischen und unvergleichlichen Romane wie „Zanoni“, „Rienzi“, „Die letzten Tage von Pompeji“ und „Das kommende Geschlecht“. Ihm wird die Mitgliedschaft in der sagenumwobenen Gemeinschaft der Rosenkreuzer nachgesagt. 1852 wurde er zum Kolonialminister von Großbritannien ernannt.

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      Paul Clifford — Volume 03 - Edward Bulwer-Lytton

      The Project Gutenberg EBook Paul Clifford, by Lytton, Volume 3. #157 in our series by Edward Bulwer-Lytton

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      **Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**

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      Title: Paul Clifford, Volume 3.

      Author: Edward Bulwer-Lytton

      Release Date: March 2005 [EBook #7730] [Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on May 13, 2003]

      Edition: 10

      Language: English

      *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PAUL CLIFFORD, BY LYTTON, V3 ***

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      PAUL CLIFFORD, Volume 3.

      By Edward Bulwer-Lytton

      CHAPTER XII.

                                    Up rouse ye then,

                                    My merry, merry men!

                                                  —JOANNA BAILLIE.

      When the moon rose that night, there was one spot upon which she palely broke, about ten miles distant from Warlock, which the forewarned traveller would not have been eager to pass, but which might not have afforded a bad study to such artists as have caught from the savage painter of the Apennines a love for the wild and the adventurous. Dark trees, scattered far and wide over a broken but verdant sward, made the background; the moon shimmered through the boughs as she came slowly forth from her pavilion of cloud, and poured a broader beam on two figures just advanced beyond the trees. More plainly brought into light by her rays than his companion, here a horseman, clad in a short cloak that barely covered the crupper of his steed, was looking to the priming of a large pistol which he had just taken from his holster. A slouched hat and a mask of black crape conspired with the action to throw a natural suspicion on the intentions of the rider. His horse, a beautiful dark gray, stood quite motionless, with arched neck, and its short ears quickly moving to and fro, demonstrative of that sagacious and anticipative attention which characterizes the noblest of all tamed animals; you would not have perceived the impatience of the steed, but for the white foam that gathered round the bit, and for an occasional and unfrequent toss of the head. Behind this horseman, and partially thrown into the dark shadow of the trees, another man, similarly clad, was busied in tightening the girths of a horse, of great strength and size. As he did so, he hummed, with no unmusical murmur, the air of a popular drinking-song.

      'Sdeath, Ned! said his comrade, who had for some time been plunged in a silent revery,—'Sdeath! why can you not stifle your love for the fine arts at a moment like this? That hum of thine grows louder every moment; at last I expect it will burst out into a full roar. Recollect we are not at Gentleman George's now!

      The more's the pity, Augustus, answered Ned. Soho, Little John; woaho, sir! A nice long night like this is made on purpose for drinking. Will you, sir? keep still then!

      Man never is, but always to be blest, said the moralizing Tomlinson; you see you sigh for other scenes even when you have a fine night and the chance of a God-send before you.

      Ay, the night is fine enough, said Ned, who was rather a grumbler, as, having finished his groom-like operation, he now slowly mounted. D—- it, Oliver! [The moon] looks out as broadly as if he were going to blab. For my part, I love a dark night, with a star here and there winking at us, as much as to say, 'I see you, my boys, but I won't say a word about it,' and a small, pattering, drizzling, mizzling rain, that prevents Little John's hoofs being heard, and covers one's retreat, as it were. Besides, when one is a little wet, it is always necessary to drink the more, to keep the cold from one's stomach when one gets home.

      Or in other words, said Augustus, who loved a maxim from his very heart, light wet cherishes heavy wet!

      Good! said Ned, yawning. Hang it, I wish the captain would come. Do you know what o'clock it is? Not far short of eleven, I suppose?

      About that! Hist, is that a carriage? No, it is only a sudden rise in the wind.

      Very self-sufficient in Mr. Wind to allow himself to be raised without our help! said Ned; by the way, we are of course to go back to the Red Cave?

      So Captain Lovett says. Tell me, Ned, what do you think of the new tenant Lovett has put into the cave?

      Oh, I have strange doubts there, answered Ned, shaking the hairy honours of his head. I don't half like it; consider the cave is our stronghold, and ought only to be known—

      To men of tried virtue, interrupted Tomlinson. I agree with you; I must try and get Lovett to discard his singular protege, as the French say.

      'Gad, Augustus, how came you by so much learning? You know all the poets by heart, to say nothing of Latin and French.

      Oh, hang it, I was brought up, like the captain, to a literary way of life.

      That's what makes you so thick with him, I suppose. He writes (and sings too) a tolerable song, and is certainly a deuced clever fellow. What a rise in the world he has made! Do you recollect what a poor sort of way he was in when you introduced him at Gentleman George's? and now he's the Captain Crank of the gang.

      The gang! the company, you mean. Gang, indeed! One would think you were speaking of a knot of pickpockets. Yes, Lovett is a clever fellow; and, thanks to me, a very decent philosopher! It is impossible to convey to our reader the grave air of importance with which Tomlinson made his concluding laudation. Yes, said he, after a pause, "he has a bold, plain

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