There was once a philanthropist who dressed with shameful shabbiness and carried pearls in his pocket. "All right," he said. Here they would be having lunch. It could not be a legal marriage. To be sure," he added, lowering his tone, "they wos little 'uns, and one on 'em was smothered—ough! ough!—how this cough chokes me!" Sheppard, meanwhile, whose hands were at liberty, managed to possess himself, unperceived, of the spike of a halbert, which was lying, apart from the pole, upon a bench near him. ‘Alors, I see it. At length the manager arrived; and together he and Ruth succeeded in getting some of the aromatic spirits of ammonia down the patient's throat. —Strype's Stow.
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