Fly! fly!" "Do not think of me, mother, but of yourself," cried Jack, in an agony of tears. Skirting the noble gardens of Montague House, (now, we need scarcely say, the British Museum,) the party speedily reached Great Russell Street,—a quarter described by Strype, in his edition of old Stow's famous Survey, "as being graced with the best buildings in all Bloomsbury, and the best inhabited by the nobility and gentry, especially the north side, as having gardens behind the houses, and the prospect of the pleasant fields up to Hampstead and Highgate; insomuch that this place, by physicians, is esteemed the most healthful of any in London. Her greatest exploit was the howling before the mid-day meal. ‘I have told you, a whip it is nothing. It warms me, and lights me, and fills my world with flowers.
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