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Updated: June 2, 2025
A quarter of an hour's rapid walking from his father's door, took Zack well out of the neighborhood of Baregrove Square, and launched him in vagabond independence loose on the world.
He was too weak to use the pen himself; but the tobacconist's wife a slovenly, showy, kind-hearted woman was always ready to do anything to serve him; and he determined to make his mind a little easier by asking her to write a few penitent lines for him, and by having the letter despatched immediately to his father's address in Baregrove Square.
The garden in the middle of Baregrove Square with its close-cut turf, its vacant beds, its bran-new rustic seats, its withered young trees that had not yet grown as high as the railings around them seemed to be absolutely rotting away in yellow mist and softly-steady rain, and was deserted even by the cats.
Blyth reads the contents rather gravely on this occasion; rapidly plastering his last morsels of waste paint upon the paper as he goes on, until at length it looks as if it had been well peppered with all the colors of the rainbow. Zack's third letter of complaint certainly promised serious domestic tribulation for the ruling power at Baregrove Square:
Thorpe on the day of his son's flight from Baregrove Square, had been immediately and successfully relieved by the medical remedies employed; but it had been followed, within the last day or two, by a terrible depression of spirits, under which the patient seemed to have given way entirely, and for which the doctor was unable to suggest any speedy process of cure. Few in number at all times, Mr.
In your father's present state your return to Baregrove Square would do him a great deal of harm, and do you no good. Employed, however, you must be somehow while you're away from home; and what you're fit for unless it's Art I'm sure I don't know. You have been talking a great deal about wanting to be a painter; and now is the time to test your resolution.
When Zack, hearing from this gentleman that his father had left the house in Baregrove Square, desired to know what had occasioned the change of residence, he was only informed that the state of Mr.
Thorpe discovered how much longer her absence from home had lasted than she had intended it should on leaving Baregrove Square. She rose directly, in great trepidation took a hurried leave of Valentine, who was loitering about his front garden sent the kindest messages she could think of to the ladies above stairs and departed at once for home.
"That's rather an odd fellow" thought Zack as he pursued his own road "and we have got acquainted with each other in rather an odd way. I shall certainly go and see him though, on Thursday; something may come of it, one of these days." Zack was a careless guesser; but, in this case, he guessed right. Something did come of it. When Zack reached Baregrove Square, it was four in the morning.
At a quarter to one o'clock, on a wet Sunday afternoon, in November 1837, Samuel Snoxell, page to Mr. Zachary Thorpe, of Baregrove Square, London, left the area gate with three umbrellas under his arm, to meet his master and mistress at the church door, on the conclusion of morning service.
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