. "He's about to cross the river. With his foodle doo! This carpenter he had a wife, The plague and torment of his life, Who, though she did her husband scold, Loved well a woollen-draper bold. Her pat answer to all inquiries was, “I let my sister Shari make me over,” while she kept from staring at her own reflection in the shiny shoes past her bare knees. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. ” “It was Cheveney!” he said slowly. The Old Mint. Ah! how I wish, poor dear Sir Cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order. “Some day,” she answered.
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