For an instant his whole frame appeared petrified, and the tide and current of his life frozen up in thick-ribbed ice.
Jim Smith, meanwhile, holding out a white packet at arm's length, exclaimed in a sepulchral tone,
“D'ye want a pound of magic shot?”
THE PRACTICAL JOKER.—No. II.
AWFULLY ponderous as the words struck upon the tightened drum of Tom's auriculars, they still tended to arouse his fainting spirit.
“Mer-mer-mercy on us!” ejaculated he, and shrank back a pace or two, still keeping his dilating optics fixed upon the horrible spectre.
“D'ye want a pound of magic shot?” repeated Jim Smith.
“Mur-mur-der!” screamed Tom; and, mechanically raising his gun for action of some kind appeared absolutely necessary to keep life within him, he aimed at the Tempter, trembling in every joint.