Nothing to do; nothing for the hands, the mind, the heart. That is quite as far as I mean to tempt Providence to-night. "Long life to the Marquis!" reiterated Terence; "he's an honour to ould Ireland!" "Didn't I tell you how it would be?" remarked Quilt. “You poor child!” he said; “don’t you see the infinite folly of these proceedings? Think! Think of the love and affection you abandon! Think of your aunt, a second mother to you. I wonder what men would say if we threw the mask aside—if we really told them what WE thought of them, really showed them what WE were. It keeps dangling in front of my eyes. ” His walk became a jovial saunter.
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