There sat Jack, evidently in the last stage of intoxication, with his collar opened, his dress disarranged, a pipe in his mouth, a bowl of punch and a halfemptied rummer before him,—there he sat, receiving and returning, or rather attempting to return,—for he was almost past consciousness,—the blandishments of a couple of females, one of whom had passed her arm round his neck, while the other leaned over the back of his chair and appeared from her gestures to be whispering soft nonsense into his ear. Rank ingratitude, I call it. "A bad girl?" She put the question as she would have put any question—leveleyed and level-toned. Hogarth, before the jailer," replied Jack. " Soon after this Mrs. ToC If there is one thing on earth, more lovely than another, it is a fair girl of the tender age of Winifred Wood! Her beauty awakens no feeling beyond that of admiration. But your face! What happened here just before I came?" "Perhaps God wasn't quite sure that I could hold what I had, and wanted to try me out.
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