When Mr. There sat Jack, evidently in the last stage of intoxication, with his collar opened, his dress disarranged, a pipe in his mouth, a bowl of punch and a halfemptied rummer before him,—there he sat, receiving and returning, or rather attempting to return,—for he was almost past consciousness,—the blandishments of a couple of females, one of whom had passed her arm round his neck, while the other leaned over the back of his chair and appeared from her gestures to be whispering soft nonsense into his ear. Cased and ribbed with stone, and braced with horizontal beams of timber, the piles, which formed the foundation of these jetties, had resisted the strong encroachments of the current for centuries. “You see, dear, one IS passionately anxious for something—what is it? One wants to be CLEAN. He watched her constantly, trapped her in corners and slept with his arms locking her like a human cage. Our men had him fast, held down in a chair. ” Ennison was dismayed.
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