The gong will go at seven-thirty. “As things are at present,” she said, “it is true. This is retribution. A crumpled-up newspaper thrown from the gallery hit her upon the cheek. On this side stood the instruments with which the latter piece of pleasantry had been effected,—namely, a bucket filled with paint and a brush: on that was erected a trophy, consisting of a watchman's rattle, a laced hat, with the crown knocked out, and its place supplied by a lantern, a campaign wig saturated with punch, a torn steen-kirk and ruffles, some halfdozen staves, and a broken sword. The storm burst upon them in its fury. “To be my eternal love.
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