Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail. “You may talk—if you can talk cheerfully, not unless. He meditated, and began a new paragraph. 'Sdeath! what can I have done with it? Oh! here it is," cried Hogarth, picking it from the ground. It was partly to pay a grudge he had against father. “This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. They did not care— servant or master, it meant nothing. “Not possible.
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