“I say, daddy,” she began, and was suddenly short of breath. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. Though meant to produce a totally different effect, the narrative seemed to excite the risible propensities rather than the commiseration of his auditor; and when Mr. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. Miss Mary to the life, I said, and so she is. There were one or two bitter moments in his life when he had been made to feel that gentility laid on with a brush may sometimes crack and show weak places—that deportment and breeding are after all things apart. “The point is we’re not toys, toys isn’t the word; we’re litter.
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