The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. I told him I would bring him to the gallows, and I was as good as my word. ‘Do not mix yourself in mine, and perhaps you will not die. Leaning upon a gate he looked down into the valley. 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. " And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL. Do not waste time in vain regrets, but let us remove the body, that we may fulfil her last injunctions. ‘Oh, I do love a flatterer. . ‘I see well that I am dealing with you.
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