The Mysteries of London; or, Revelations of the British Metropolis — page 230: what you’re looking at

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

. Angelo Bembo, replied the old man ; you are 228 MYSTERIES inclining on a blue velvet ottoman, playing with the long and silky ears ofa large spaniel. In the centre of the room stood the blind man Tyrrel. What do you think of Lovely, Sir Edmund? said the young man, suddenly. Lovely was the name of the Spaniel. I think the question an impertinent one, Signor - “awareof my infirmity. Youarfe quite right, Sir Edmund—guite right, muttered Bembo, whose handsome andthoughtless face assumed a slightly sarcastic look ; your infir- mity is well know, it is the brightest feather in your cap, and I am quite certain you would not ioose it for a thousand pounds, Yes I would, said Tyrrel dryly. The blind man once more began walking up and down the room, apparently absorbed in his own reflections, Bembo followed his motions with a vexed and sorrowful look. Angelo might have been about twenty years of age. He was a native of Malta, where his ances- tors, of Venetian origin, had formerly lived — there in great state. The conquest of the island by the English had ruined his family, whose de- cline had commenced at the time that General Bonaparte landed there, on his way to conquer Egypt. He gallantly set out, determined to make the tour of Europe, as do ‘all those Italians who 2 are driven hy foreign tyranny to leave their country, © where they see only Austria, and shutting their eyes, launch out into the world, and commence wh ae px “Ds ai ‘ seen com a ye