I was—I was a corespondent. Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other. ‘And just who is Leonardo?’ ‘How in God’s name should I know?’ demanded Roding irascibly. Seeing from the threatening looks of his captors, that they were about to wreak their vengeance upon him, the miserable wretch besought mercy in abject terms, and charged his master with the most atrocious crimes. 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. 59 He was not present during the night the next morning, or the next, or the next. For a long time he remained standing before the fire, staring at the situation. "No matter.
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