And as his folly and its bitterness found him out, the poor fool rocked himself, and cursed the day when he was born.

If any one yet doubt that Mr.Moggridge was an inspired singer, let him turn to that sublime aspiration in _Sophronia: a Tragedy_-- "Let me be criminal, but never weak; For weaklings wear the stunted form of sin Without its brave apparel"-- and considered Sam Buzza as he writhed beneath the sign-post.
_Pat, pat, pat!_ It was the muffled sound of footsteps on the dusty road.

He looked up.

A dark figure, the figure of a woman, was approaching.

Its air of timorous alertness, and its tendency to seek the shadow of the hedge-row, gave him some confidence.