All bad verse—originally the epigram was Lang’s, I believe—is written in a state of emotion. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. Then with an indescribable relief her feet were on the pavement, and she was being urged along by two policemen, who were gripping her wrists in an irresistible expert manner. She could run away from him, if she wished, as she had run away from her father; she could carry out the original adventure. "Come, let's be off. I'll put a brace of dogs on your track, who'll soon hunt you down. " "I'v not failed," returned Jack, angrily; "but we've done too much. But here it is China.
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