"That'll teach you to keep a civil tongue in your head for the future," observed Thames, as he helped Jack to his feet. ‘Again?’ Another simple parry. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. “I wish you would not do it. And now tell me what has happened to my poor mother?" "Ever since your last capture, and Thames's mysterious disappearance, she has been dreadfully ill," replied Winifred; "so ill, that each day was expected to be her last. Listen to your mother's prayers, and do not let her die brokenhearted. Now Owen Wood had one fair child, Unlike her mother, meek and mild; Her love the draper strove to gain, But she repaid him with disdain. To them all I am nothing. "Halloa!" cried Jack, looking round, and trying to fix his inebriate gaze upon the speaker,—"who's that?" "Your mother," replied Mrs.
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