The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. He dissected rather awkwardly and hurriedly, but, on the whole, effectively, and drew with an impatient directness that made up in significance what it lacked in precision. He had a narrow escape, however; for, passing within an inch of him, the bullet burried itself deeply in the wall. Jolly nose! the bright rubies that garnish thy tip Are dug from the mines of canary; And to keep up their lustre I moisten my lip With hogsheads of claret and sherry.
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