The more haste, the worse speed—better the feet slip than the tongue. It must be somewhere hereabouts. Remember, in your story—look at it, scattered everywhere!—that line? We arrive at true happiness only through labyrinths of misery. In vain did the woollendraper offer to set him free if he would restore the stolen article, or give up his associate, to whom it was supposed he might have handed it. He suddenly became eloquent and plausible. She backed away from him. When the turnkey, next morning, stepp'd into his room, The sight of the hole in the wall struck him dumb; The sheriff's black bracelets lay strewn on the ground, But the lad that had worn 'em could nowhere be found. The door closed softly upon her. He would have some sport with Mr. " "That kind of talk makes you sound like a white man.
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