"As I said before, I have little reliance upon professions of gratitude. I'll be at the Cross Shovels in the course of the day. Stanley was inclined to think the censorship should be extended to the supply of what he styled latter-day fiction; good wholesome stories were being ousted, he said, by “vicious, corrupting stuff” that “left a bad taste in the mouth. Her lover, Darrell, has embarked upon the Thames, where, if he's not capsized by the squall, (for it's blowing like the devil,) he stands a good chance of getting his throat cut by his pursuers—ha! ha! I tracked 'em to the banks of the river, and should have followed to see it out, if the watermen hadn't refused to take me. " "Both are dead," observed the knight, gloomily. For a long time neither spoke again. If it hadn’t been for Professor Russell standing up for him, they say he would have had to leave. There was a certain air of forced fortuity in his manner.
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