‘Yes, th-there it is,’ she uttered, stumbling a little over the words. Jolly nose! the bright rubies that garnish thy tip Are dug from the mines of canary; And to keep up their lustre I moisten my lip With hogsheads of claret and sherry. A struggle of the most terrific kind now ensued. “I don’t think you see,” she replied, with tears on her cheeks, and her brows knitting, “how it shames and, ah!—disgraces me—AH TISHU!” She put down the tray with a concussion on her toilet-table. E. To-morrow, we'll go to the Fleet and get spliced.
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