As Fenton spoke, the baronet took from one of the coach pockets a large flask of spirits and water, which he instantly, but without speaking, placed in the scorching wretch's hands, who without a moment's hesitation, put it to his lips and emptied it at one long, luxurious draught.
"Thanks, friend," he then exclaimed; "I have been agreeably mistaken in you, I find.

You are--you must be--no other than my worthy host of the 'Hedge.' Poor Dives! D--n the glutton; after all, I pity him, and would fain hope that he has got relief by this time.

As for Lazarus, I fear that his condition in life was no better than it deserved.

If he had been a trump, now, and anxious to render good for evil, he would have dropped a bottle of aquapura to the suffering glutton, for if worthy Dives did nothing else, he fed the dogs that licked the old fellow's sores.

Fie, for shame, old Lazarus, d--n me, if I had you back again, but we'd teach you sympathy for Dives; and how so, my friend of the hawthorn--why, we'd send him to the poor-house,* or if that wouldn't do, to the mad-house--to the mad-house.