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. “You must tell me the truth, and I will see that no harm comes to you. Even the love of a mother does not sway him. I would like to talk to you about this—soon. For fifteen years!—so long as I can remember! All I wanted was a little love, a caress now and then. He has been lodged in every round-house in the metropolis, and has broken out of them all, and boasts that no prison can hold him. Yet she never once thought of changing it. Take, if you please, your own pistol. . “I do not wish to make impertinent inquiries into your private life.
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