The hurricane had now reached its climax. At that time, we were beneath the sway of Anne: we are now at the commencement of the reign of George the First. "It was given me by a man who was drinking t'other night with Blueskin at the Lion! and who, though he slouched his hat over his eyes, and muffled his chin in a handkerchief, must have been Jonathan Wild. After he was gone in the morning, Ruth would steal into the study and hurriedly read what he had written the previous night. Do you know whoso portrait this is?" "I do not," replied Thames, repressing his tears, "but I believe it to be the portrait of my father. “Dinner is served, m’m,” said the efficient parlor-maid in the archway, and the worst was over.
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