'
'Is the lady in England now, sir?' inquired Mr. Tupman, on
whom the description of her charms had produced a powerful impression.
'Dead, sir--dead,' said the stranger, applying to his right eye
the brief remnant of a very old cambric handkerchief. 'Never
recovered the stomach pump--undermined constitution--fell a victim.'
'And her father?' inquired the poetic Snodgrass.
'Remorse and misery,' replied the stranger. 'Sudden
disappearance--talk of the whole city--search made everywhere
without success--public fountain in the great square suddenly
ceased playing--weeks elapsed--still a stoppage--workmen
employed to clean it--water drawn off--father-in-law discovered
sticking head first in the main pipe, with a full confession in his
right boot--took him out, and the fountain played away again,
as well as ever.'
'Will you allow me to note that little romance down, Sir?' said
Mr. Snodgrass, deeply affected.
'Certainly, Sir, certainly--fifty more if you like to hear 'em--
strange life mine--rather curious history--not extraordinary,
but singular.'
In this strain, with an occasional glass of ale, by way of
parenthesis, when the coach changed horses, did the stranger
proceed, until they reached Rochester bridge, by which time the
note-books, both of Mr.
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