"Despatch him!" roared Jonathan. For although I must confess it reads very much like an application or a testimonial or some such thing as that, I can assure you I am writing this in fear and trembling with a sinking heart. "He's about to cross the river. The picturesque scoundrel had the true gift; and Spurlock was filled with pity at the thought of such genius gone to pot. From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. Men were going hither and thither with barrows, and ladders and ropes, removing the rubbish, and trying to support the tottering habitations. “You propose, then,” she remarked, “that I shall still be saddled with a pseudo husband. I mystify you; I can see that.
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