"Allow me to assist you, Sir James," said Hogarth. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once. There was no response. "It is addressed to my mother," he added, as his eye glanced rapidly over it, "and by my father. He would see this sister. This I have sworn to do—this I will do. No man knew whence she had come nor why. "'Odd's-my-life! what's this?" exclaimed the carpenter, looking at the superscription of one of them.
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