commented Sewell, and then he pursued--

"'A reasonable supply of drunks were despatched--'

"Come, now, Lucy! You'll admit that this is horrible?" he broke off.

"No," said his wife, "I will admit nothing of the kind. It's
flippant, I'll allow. Go on!"

"I can't," said Sewell; but he obeyed.

"'A reasonable supply of drunks were despatched, and an habitual
drunk, in the person of a burly dame from Tipperary, who pleaded not
guilty and then urged the "poor childer" in extenuation, was sent
down the harbour for three months; Uncle Cook had been put in charge
of a couple of young frailties whose hind name was woman--'

"How do you like that, my dear?" asked Sewell exultantly.

Mrs. Sewell looked grave, and then burst into a shocked laugh. "You
must stop that paper, David! I can't have it about for the children
to get hold of. But it _is_ funny, isn't it? That will do--"

"No, I think you'd better have it all, now. There can't be anything
worse. It's funny, yes, with that truly infernal drollery which the
newspaper wits seem to have the art of." He read on--"--'when a case
was called that brought the breath of clover blossoms and hay-seed
into the sultry court-room, and warmed the cockles of the
habitues' toughened pericardiums with a touch of real poetry.
This was a case of assault, with intent to rob, in which a lithe