Alfred de Rosann — page 142: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ALFRED DE ROSANN. Pe At Bagshot, De Rosann opened the window of the post-chaise for a moment, and called the postilion to the door. He did not attempt to make him under- stand his meaning by mere words, because, of all people in the world, an English post-boy is about the last whom a rational being would expect to speak French : but money has a persuasive eloquence pecu- _liar to itself; and an extra half-crown, paid before- hand, on this occasion produced the desired effect. Our hero saw that his wishes were comprehended ; and, having drawn up the blinds, he endeavoured to compose himself to sleep, while the postilion whipped his spirited horses, and urged them to such a pace that Alfred could not reproach himself for having ex- pended coin in vain. Immediately out of Bagshot, which lies ina valley, the road ascends a steep hill. Up this acclivity dashed the chaise drawn by two animals, on whose tender sides the spur and the lash were not used fruitlessly. The brow was passed ; and the descent was made at the same rapid rate, as if life were un- recked for, and speed alone regarded. Alfred felt a momentary alarm at so extraordinary a celerity ; but he did not choose to exhibit his nervous fears by desiring the postilion to relax from that pace which he himself had encouraged with his munificence. The level piece of ground to which they had now arrived, a mile before the entrance of the town of Blackwater, was starcely touched by the hoofs of the horses asthey galloped over it like grey-hounds stretch- ing across the plain, bearing the carriage in their rear as if it were a thing of no weight. In the meantime the flashes of lightning gradually became more frequent and morevivid; thethunder broke forth with deafening peals ; the violence of the rain increased ; and the murmuring of the wind as rapidly abated to a com- parative tranquillity. Faster and faster flew the met- tled steeds—their iron-shod heels struck fire even on a road deluged with water—but the crack of the _postilion’s whip was heard no longer. Trusting too VOL. I1.—12 (eo) JOO =) a <S (E@)