I told her it was the end. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. "He was hanged that left his drink behind, you know, master," rejoined Sheppard. A sinister thought edged in. “Leave them!” He yelled. He felt he was human wisdom prudentially interpolated. "I knew his poor mother, and for her sake I'll not see this done," cried John Dump. " "You had better take some refreshment before you start," rejoined Wild. One, by perseverance and industry shall obtain fortune, credit, and the highest honours; while the other by an opposite course, and dissolute habits, shall eventually arrive at Tyburn. "Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch—the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!—the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!—And must another be added to their number—their son! Horror!—let me be spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet—my name tarnished—my escutcheon blotted by the hangman!—No, I cannot submit to that.
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