It would be downright cruel to disillusion her. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. " "Merciful providence!" exclaimed the female. At this juncture, and just as a cuckoo-clock in the corner struck sis, Jack Sheppard walked into the room, with the packing-case under his arm. They looked out over the city, grim and silent now, for it was long past midnight. Meanwhile, the mob outside had prodigiously increased, and had begun to exhibit some disposition to riot. "My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. ‘I did not think so. ‘You won’t get a thing out of her.
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