"Mother—dear mother!" said Jack, bursting into tears. “Love should be enough, John, but it never is. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. Mike chortled. This individual apparently met with some impediment to his further progress; for he had not proceeded many steps when he turned suddenly about, and darted up the passage in which Wood stood. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen.
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