To-night all London believes that he was your husband. He was not there. He would always be her friend, too. On this side stood the instruments with which the latter piece of pleasantry had been effected,—namely, a bucket filled with paint and a brush: on that was erected a trophy, consisting of a watchman's rattle, a laced hat, with the crown knocked out, and its place supplied by a lantern, a campaign wig saturated with punch, a torn steen-kirk and ruffles, some halfdozen staves, and a broken sword. I have worn it for weeks and weeks. It was rigged up for the occasion as it has been many a time before. .
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