Of my Incarceration in the Jug
the which consideration let us be merry to-night."
“Merry!” he cried, lifting up his hands, “a soul so nigh its Maker is more meet for prayers and fastings”; and then, his own stomach getting the uppermost, “yet I would not refuse any legitimate consolations of the flesh to a human being, more particularly as the spirit oftentimes cedeth out of the very weakness of the body.” And this was the last flutter the rags of his calling made, for when the wine was fetched, he sat down to it with a relish, and grew garrulous, as was his wont. “’Tis a pity, Ryder,” says he meditatively, and cocking an eye at his glass, “to see a handsome rogue such as you be predestined to a cruel end. I have seen many go to the Tree with few compunctions, and even with a sigh of content to be quit of their dirty company. But you, in a manner, warm my heart. ’Tis grievous that you should fall upon so evil a fate, and you with such a fine buxom career before you. But it comes, for the main part, of our bringing up," he
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