Against the walls hung an assortment of staves, brown-bills, (weapons then borne by the watch,) muskets, handcuffs, great-coats, and lanterns. "Come away!" he cried, with the roar of a demon. The crowner's 'quest sat on her yesterday—and if she hadn't been proved out of her mind, she would have been buried at four lane-ends. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy. It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent. But this was long ago. "You are, Sir," thundered Jonathan; "and, unless you find him, you shan't hold your place a week.
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