‘ſnatch my morſel of bread from my mouth, the hard-earned fruit of my ſweat and toil? Alas! ruined man that I am for ever!’ He then underwent a furious paroxyſm of rage, and poured out all the abuſe he was maſter of againſt the ſpirit of the mountain: ‘Villain! ſcoundrel! now thou haft taken away all I have in the world, come and throttle me.’ Indeed, at that inſtant, he had no more value for his life than for one of his broken glaſſes. Number-Nip, however, was no more to be ſeen or heard.
The bankrupt Stephen unleſs he choſe to carry his crate empty home, was fain to ſet about picking up the fragments, in order to exchange them for a couple of beer-glaſſes, at the glaſs-houſe, towards raiſing a new ſtock. Melancholy as a merchant whoſe ſhip, with every thing on board, has been ſwallowed by the greedy ocean, he began to deſcend the mountain with a thouſand diſmal ideas, mingled however with various ſpeculations, in what
