Here the prisoners took exercise; and a quaint, but striking picture has been left of their appearance when so engaged, by the author of the English Rogue. When I have traversed the streets a houseless wanderer, driven with curses from every door where I have solicited alms, and with blows from every gateway where I have sought shelter,—when I have crept into some deserted building, and stretched my wearied limbs upon a bulk, in the vain hope of repose,—or, worse than all, when, frenzied with want, I have yielded to horrible temptation, and earned a meal in the only way I could earn one,—when I have felt, at times like these, my heart sink within me, I have drank of this drink, and have at once forgotten my cares, my poverty, my guilt. . ’ ‘Lady Bicknacre too,’ said Lucilla, a delight in her voice that grated on Melusine. “Ever yours, “ANNABEL. “Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee. ‘Merci, dieu. " "Don't stir, or they'll chain you to the wall," said his mother detaining him. ” Ann Veronica agreed, and tried to make the manner of her assent cover a possible knowledge of a probable poem. " "Ah!" shrieked Lady Trafford. ” “You’d like to do that?” “Exactly. You've caught the colour and the life. I do not choose the vicomte, for that would be foolish.
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