When the carpenter concluded his recital, Jonathan was for a moment lost in reflection. I suppose this is what she learns in her infernal London colleges. Satisfied, as he thought, that he had nothing to apprehend, the boy resumed his task, chanting, as he plied his knife with redoubled assiduity, the following—not inappropriate strains:— THE NEWGATE STONE. Twice she smiled, but not unkindly. A white man, wandering about the streets of Canton at night, was a challenge to such a catastrophe. "Whatever your intelligence may be I will strive to bear it. It has been a marvellous day—and I am going to England. "Fire!—murder—thieves!—I've got one of 'em!" "Come along," cried Jack.
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