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Updated: May 1, 2025
"What dreary, dispirited people we'd be by this time if it were not for this cheering blaze. I'd be perfectly content to stay here all day if I had to." Miss Amesbury had ample opportunity to test the depth of her content, for the rain showed no sign of abating. Hour after hour it poured down steadily as though it had forgotten how to stop.
Take my advice, therefore, and if the Everly troop disgrace themselves, quit them, and think yourself well out of what I always thought was a scrape." This wise and salutary advice was not followed by me, though I could not but admit the propriety of it. The field day arrived, and I was one of the first upon the ground, which was a beautiful sheepdrove upon the Downs, between Everly and Amesbury.
Sometimes they are if anything too civil. A bit servile, in fact. Then they turn out and look as though they would like to make their teeth meet in my backbone. They sulk, and whisper in groups, and snicker. I am getting sick of it. I must get rid of them. By Jove! there's David Rennes, the painter. I thought he was at Amesbury with the Carillons, doing Agnes's portrait. It can't be finished.
Stephen Mortimer Beckwith was a young man living at Wishford in the Amesbury district of Wiltshire. He was a clerk in the Wilts and Dorset Bank at Salisbury, was married and had one child. His age at the time of the experience here related was twenty-eight. His health was excellent.
Stonehenge is about nine miles north of Salisbury, near the town of Amesbury, where another ancient camp, known as "The Ramparts," crowns a wooded hill, around which the Avon flows, the camp enclosing nearly forty acres.
To use the words of one who stood by him in the dark days of the Fugitive Slave Law, the Chief Justice of the United States, "Time and the wiser thought will vindicate the illustrious statesman to whom Massachusetts, the country, and humanity owe so much, but the state can ill afford the damage to its own reputation which such a censure of such a man will inflict." AMESBURY, 3d month, 8, 1873.
"This, then, is final," he said. "Within the next twenty-four hours you will be ready if necessary?" "I am ready now any time always," she promised him. "My dears," Lady Amesbury said, as she stood surrounded by her guests on the hearth rug of her drawing-room, "you know what my Sunday night dinner parties are all sorts and plenty of them, and never a dull man or a plain woman if I can help it.
At an alehouse in High Street he fell into company with a lace-man, from whom he learned, by some little conversation, that he was going to Amesbury Fair in Wiltshire. Dyer told him he was going thither too, and so along they journeyed together.
"I must tell Jimmy the glad tidings." Peter Phipps made his adieux to Lady Amesbury early and drove in his electric coupé first to Romano's, then to the Milan and finally to Ciro's. Here he found Dredlinton, seated in a corner by himself, a little sulky at the dancing proclivities of the young lady whom he had brought. He greeted Phipps with some surprise. "Hullo, Dreadnought!" he exclaimed.
But then she never saw the homeless Jews who were sold up to furnish it, nor the ruined tradesmen who had to wait till they could not pay their own way, and were sent to prison for debt. I think she might have been sorry, if she had done. I suppose we should all be sorry, if we knew half the evil we do. Well, God pardon her! she is a holy sister now in the priory at Amesbury.
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