{"id":"01KG8AKWFZ5RGEBHRXTPR44GAE","cid":"bafkreibid72gvxpkjf7ckze5qzq3fieltehgeukdxtxcdxt56kmpbil2nu","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":8554,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:14.842Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 1","source_file":"01KG89J1GP71YDJ60P8SRH97MF","start_line":8484,"text":"CHAPTER XLIV.\r\nREDBURN INTRODUCES MASTER HARRY BOLTON TO THE FAVORABLE CONSIDERATION\r\nOF THE READER\r\n\r\n\r\nIt was the day following my Sunday stroll into the country, and when I\r\nhad been in England four weeks or more, that I made the acquaintance of\r\na handsome, accomplished, but unfortunate youth, young Harry Bolton. He\r\nwas one of those small, but perfectly formed beings, with curling hair,\r\nand silken muscles, who seem to have been born in cocoons. His\r\ncomplexion was a mantling brunette, feminine as a girl’s; his feet were\r\nsmall; his hands were white; and his eyes were large, black, and\r\nwomanly; and, poetry aside, his voice was as the sound of a harp.\r\n\r\nBut where, among the tarry docks, and smoky sailor-lanes and by-ways of\r\na seaport, did I, a battered Yankee boy, encounter this courtly youth?\r\n\r\nSeveral evenings I had noticed him in our street of boarding-houses,\r\nstanding in the doorways, and silently regarding the animated scenes\r\nwithout. His beauty, dress, and manner struck me as so out of place in\r\nsuch a street, that I could not possibly divine what had transplanted\r\nthis delicate exotic from the conservatories of some Regent-street to\r\nthe untidy potato-patches of Liverpool.\r\n\r\nAt last I suddenly encountered him at the sign of the Baltimore\r\nClipper. He was speaking to one of my shipmates concerning America; and\r\nfrom something that dropped, I was led to imagine that he contemplated\r\na voyage to my country. Charmed with his appearance, and all eagerness\r\nto enjoy the society of this incontrovertible son of a gentleman—a kind\r\nof pleasure so long debarred me—I smoothed down the skirts of my\r\njacket, and at once accosted him; declaring who I was, and that nothing\r\nwould afford me greater delight than to be of the least service, in\r\nimparting any information concerning America that he needed.\r\n\r\nHe glanced from my face to my jacket, and from my jacket to my face,\r\nand at length, with a pleased but somewhat puzzled expression, begged\r\nme to accompany him on a walk.\r\n\r\nWe rambled about St. George’s Pier until nearly midnight; but before we\r\nparted, with uncommon frankness, he told me many strange things\r\nrespecting his history.\r\n\r\nAccording to his own account, Harry Bolton was a native of Bury St.\r\nEdmunds, a borough of Suffolk, not very far from London, where he was\r\nearly left an orphan, under the charge of an only aunt. Between his\r\naunt and himself, his mother had divided her fortune; and young Harry\r\nthus fell heir to a portion of about five thousand pounds.\r\n\r\nBeing of a roving mind, as he approached his majority he grew restless\r\nof the retirement of a country place; especially as he had no\r\nprofession or business of any kind to engage his attention.\r\n\r\nIn vain did Bury, with all its fine old monastic attractions, lure him\r\nto abide on the beautiful banks of her Larke, and under the shadow of\r\nher stately and storied old Saxon tower.\r\n\r\nBy all my rare old historic associations, breathed Bury; by my\r\nAbbey-gate, that bears to this day the arms of Edward the Confessor; by\r\nmy carved roof of the old church of St. Mary’s, which escaped the low\r\nrage of the bigoted Puritans; by the royal ashes of Mary Tudor, that\r\nsleep in my midst; by my Norman ruins, and by all the old abbots of\r\nBury, do not, oh Harry! abandon me. Where will you find shadier walks\r\nthan under my lime-trees? where lovelier gardens than those within the\r\nold walls of my monastery, approached through my lordly Gate? Or if, oh\r\nHarry! indifferent to my historic mosses, and caring not for my annual\r\nverdure, thou must needs be lured by other tassels, and wouldst fain,\r\nlike the Prodigal, squander thy patrimony, then, go not away from old\r\nBury to do it. For here, on Angel-Hill, are my coffee and card-rooms,\r\nand billiard saloons, where you may lounge away your mornings, and\r\nempty your glass and your purse as you list.\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 1"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJS9Y3P2G15TJFFMCY4EB","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1GP71YDJ60P8SRH97MF","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AKWFZZNW0X3KQHCMBE587","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:18.943Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:32.307Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}