"My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. John laughed even harder, his eyes misting over. His most eager inquiries and most lavish bribes could gain no further information than that she had left for England, and that her address was—London. I'm likely to get up any time in the night to work. The present divinity of the cellar was a comely middle-aged dame, almost as stout, and quite as shrill-voiced, as the Billingsgate fish-wives above-mentioned, Mrs.
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