Or Pe*rs hint a fault in the worth of his soap.
Such sights would be strange, but they cannot compare
With the sight that was seen t'other day at the Fair,
When John Jameson smashed (or the newspapers fib it)
With his hickory cudgel a whiskey-exhibit.
THE LATEST PARISIAN "ROMANCE."
(Translated from the original French Canard.)
THEY were hunting him down. They had traced him from spot to spot. Now he was in the barracks bribing the Army, now in the Ministerial Bureau offering gold to the Members of the Government, now in the office of the leading newspaper arranging for back pages in advertisements at double the scale price. His pernicious influence was felt everywhere. The whole body was permeated with a poisonous atmosphere of corruption.
"We shall have him now," said the first detective, as he looked to the lock of his revolver.