From then on he was Ruth's dog. You'll never be guided by me—never!" "Indeed, my love, you're entirely mistaken," returned the carpenter, endeavouring to deprecate his wife's rising resentment by the softest looks, and the meekest deportment. Having disposed of his steed and swallowed a glass of brandy, without taking any other refreshment, he threw himself on a couch, where he sank at once into a heavy slumber. "Them's catchpoles, I s'pose, Sir, arter the gemman with a writ?" he observed. I suppose this is what she learns in her infernal London colleges.
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