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"The poor things!" The manager laughed. The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him. " "Poor child!" muttered Trenchard, abstractedly; "the whole scene upon the river is passing before me. Amongst others, a person near the door, roused by the shriek, observed a man make his exit with the utmost precipitation. A married man!—the kind I've never been able to lure down there! But keep your temper in check. F. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. Men were going hither and thither with barrows, and ladders and ropes, removing the rubbish, and trying to support the tottering habitations.

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