Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. "I do," replied Jack, carelessly. " "Very true," chuckled Jackson; "very true. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. " And, followed by Abraham, he rushed out of the room. Then I saw Mrs. ‘That little kiss cost him his sanctuary, my girl, and don’t you forget it. No hair to fall awry, no powder to displace, no ruffles to crush; men are lucky.
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