Though not much passed the middle term of life, he seemed prematurely stricken with old age. Shortly afterwards,—it seemed an age to the anxious mother,—Mr. Mr. He got off at Canal, and she exited behind the crowd. He was asleep. On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm. ” “I promise,” he answered heartily.
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