The expression, however, which would chiefly have interested a beholder, was that of settled and profound melancholy. Satisfied, as he thought, that he had nothing to apprehend, the boy resumed his task, chanting, as he plied his knife with redoubled assiduity, the following—not inappropriate strains:— THE NEWGATE STONE. "Then take her back," said the manager. " The woollen-draper made no answer, but hastily starting up, bolted the door. Sometimes I tremble, Anna, to think how near I came to passing through life without a single glimpse, a moment’s revelation of this greatest and most awful of mysteries, the mystery of primaeval nature.
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