“Mr. "Weep on, reprobate," cried the carpenter, a little softened. "I guessed what was coming. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss. At the precise period of this history, the Jacobite party was full of hope and confidence.
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