"Women must have their wills while they live, since they can make none when they die," observed Wood, as he imprinted a kiss of reconciliation on the plump hand of his consort;—a sentiment to the correctness of which the party chiefly interested graciously vouchsafed her assent. ‘The so-called Valade is an evil person, and should certainly be got rid of in the manner you describe. " And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL. I am sorry, but you have spoilt me. They used to marry us off at seventeen, rush us into things before we had time to protest. From long experience with both races he had acquired definitions, but none snugly applied to this girl. But, when? When do they go?’ ‘Today, miss. "I'm surprised Mr. I'll forgive him if he does.
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