When Claude Du Val was in Newgate thrown, He carved his name on the dungeon stone; Quoth a dubsman, who gazed on the shattered wall, "You have carved your epitaph, Claude Du Val, With your chisel so fine, tra la!" "This S wants a little deepening," mused the apprentice, retouching the letter in question; "ay, that's better. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. “Lucy, are you feeling all right?” He asked concernedly. I shall lose my fees and the laced coat.
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