human
The Lord Bishop Twysden, of Raphoe, a member of the old Kentish family of that name, was found suspiciously out at night on Hounslow Heath, and was most unquestionably shot through the body. A correspondent of the _Gentleman's Magazine_ asked, 'Was this the bishop who was taken _ill_ on Hounslow Heath, and so carried back to his friend's house (? Osterley Park), where he died of an inflammation of the bowels?'
gpt
Houndslot —Heath, the pretty village of Cranford stood; and there, too, was, and still is, Cranford Park, long a seat of the Fitzhardinge Berkeleys. Cranford was a favourite with the fifth Earl of Berkeley (died 1810), and he used frequently to stay there from Saturdays to Mondays, even although the journey between it and London was not infrequently made hazardous by the enterprising gentlemen who found the Heath a veritable
human
Tom Tiddler's ground, where they were always pretty sure to pick up gold and silver. Twice my lord's carriage had been stopped between Cranford and the village of Hounslow, and robbed: on the second occasion by a footpad dressed as a sailor, who with trembling hand pointed a fully cocked pistol at him. While the Earl was collecting his loose change, the trigger was accidentally pulled by this nervous footpad. Fortunately it missed fire, or else there would have been another tragic episode to chronicle.
gpt
I beg your pardon, my lord,
human
You are Lord Berkeley, I think?
gpt
Yes,
human
Then, rejoined the man,
gpt
I am a single highwayman, and I demand your money or your life!
human
You cowardly scoundrel! exclaimed the Earl,