"Gentlemen," returned the Master, solemnly, "it is a question easily answered— they are NOWHERE! Had they hanged the bailiffs, the bailiffs would not have hanged them. A full-curled wig descended half-way down his back and shoulders; a neckcloth of "right Mechlin" was twisted round his throat so tightly as almost to deprive him of breath, and threaten him with apoplexy; he had lace, also, at his wrists and bosom; gold clocks to his hose, and red heels to his shoes. This was the bitterest hour he had ever known. “There’s the whole situation.
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