” “Ah!” Sir John exclaimed. But he could only discern a black and shapeless mass, floating upon the water at a little distance, which, to his bewildered fancy, appeared absolutely standing still. The man, who was just able to move, pointed towards Giltspur-street. “We’re going to be sensible. This is part of a dream— some evil fancy. My very sentences stumble and give way. Jonathan, though a very powerful man, was like an infant in his gripe. ‘We?’ Gerald smiled. "My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. Sheppard returned no answer. .
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