Smith," observed Wood. The man’s passion was infectious. ’ ‘Then they are soldiers. The chromatic fiction with which he relieved his mind glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any quality of guidance. "I am—I am!" cried the widow, snatching the babe, and pressing it to her breast with rapturous delight "God be thanked, I have found it!" "We have both good reason to be grateful," added the lady, with great emotion. With this view he struck off into a narrow street on the left, and soon entered a small alehouse, over the door of which hung the sign of the "Welsh Trumpeter.
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