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And where do you think I am? At Heathfield Lodge, Croydon, the seat of Gerard Ralstone, Esq.; and met here at a large dinner yesterday Mr. Napier, and he comes for me to-morrow, and takes me to Forest Hill. At this dinner were two celebrated American gentlemen Mr. Sparkes, who wrote Washington's Life; and Mr. Clisson, a man of fortune, and benevolently enthusiastic about colonisation in Liberia.
Buckram calls them, with as little trouble, and in as short a time almost, as it took him to accomplish a meet at Croydon, or at the Magpies at Staines. But to our groom and horses. Mr.
I wrote also to tell the Duke of Argyll of the success, and he in answer expressed very sincere pleasure. My dear Wallace, yours very sincerely, Pen-y-bryn, St. Peter's Road, Croydon. January 29, 1881.
"Of course, but what shall it be?" The two were battling with this question when the city editor returned. He came in and said quietly: "I found the notice. At least, I suppose this is it. What is the old man's full name?" "Horace W. Croydon." "This is it, then," said the city editor, standing with his back to the door.
Woolstan, addressing herself as though with keen interest to the son of the family, a high-coloured, large-limbed young man of about Lashmar's age. "That was splendid! But you did better still against East Croydon, didn't you?" "Made my century, there," answered Mr. Barker, jerking out a leg in self-satisfaction. "How conceited you're making him, Mrs.
In France there is no Liverpool or Croydon or Sandown for steeple-chases: there is only an Auteuil. The other meetings in the neighborhood of Paris Maisons, Le Vésinet, La Marche are in the hands of shameless speculators like Dennetier, Oller and the rest.
There used to be, thirty years ago, a little rivulet of the Wandel, about an inch deep, which ran over the carriage-road and under a foot-bridge just under the last chalk hill near Croydon. Alas! men came and went; and it did not go on for ever.
Thereafter Kent had stagnated quietly, living with simple rigor the life he had marked out for himself; thankful at heart, Loring had suspected, for the timely intervention of the farmer's son, but holding himself well in hand against a repetition of the sentimental offense. All this until the opening of the summer hotel at the foot of Old Croydon, and the coming of Elinor Brentwood.
I hope that it will give you some satisfaction to see that not only every scientific man to whom I applied, but that also our Government appreciated your lifelong scientific labour. Believe me, my dear Wallace, yours sincerely, I should expect that there will be some delay before you receive an official announcement. Pen-y-bryn, St. Peter's Road, Croydon. January 8, 1881.
Innocent Smith when they had a little house on the edge of Croydon. From the gardener's tale, with its many small allusions, Inglewood grew certain he had seen the place. It was one of those corners of town or country that one does not forget, for it looked like a frontier. The garden hung very high above the lane, and its end was steep and sharp, like a fortress.
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