I next proceeded to Jenny Bunch's, the Ship, in Trig Lane—there I got the same answer. “Time for my Patience,” she said. I'm going through his pockets. All that he had sown that afternoon with such infinite care was as nothing compared to this seed, cast without forethought. On this side stood the instruments with which the latter piece of pleasantry had been effected,—namely, a bucket filled with paint and a brush: on that was erected a trophy, consisting of a watchman's rattle, a laced hat, with the crown knocked out, and its place supplied by a lantern, a campaign wig saturated with punch, a torn steen-kirk and ruffles, some halfdozen staves, and a broken sword. ” Sir John breathed a long deep sigh. Old Lancashire families both. ‘I find this was excessively clever of Gérard.
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