“You don’t waste any time. Will you lend me the money for my ticket to London?” “With all the pleasure in the world,” he answered heartily. The day had become suddenly overcast. They were things I had meant very much to talk to you about, so that I went home vexed and disappointed, and only relieved myself a little by writing a few verses. . . In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. He looked around, and as he heard that deafening shout,— as he felt the influence of those thousand eyes fixed upon him,—as he listened to the cheers, all his misgivings—if he had any—vanished, and he felt more as if he were marching to a triumph, than proceeding to a shameful death. " "Very well, sir. ’ No Latin? And no guns or daggers, naturally.
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