The Lord is not ſlacke cõcerning his promiſe (as ſome men count ſlackneſſe)[…].

“Well, let's hope you're right, darling. In the meantime,” said Kipper, “if I don't get that whisky-and-soda soon, I shall disintegrate. Would you mind if I went in search of it, Mrs Travers?” “It's the very thing I was about to suggest myself. Dash along and drink your fill, my unhappy young stag at eve.” “I'm feeling rather like a restorative, too,” said Bobbie. “Me also,” I said, swept along on the tide of the popular movement. “Though I would advise,” I said, when we were outside, “making it port. More authority.”

The engine-driver and fireman did not see her. They were leaning out on the other side, telling the Porter a tale about a dog and a leg of mutton. If you please, said Roberta--but the engine was blowing off steam and no one heard her. If you please, Mr. Engineer, she spoke a little louder, but the Engine happened to speak at the same moment, and of course Roberta's soft little voice hadn't a chance.

I am satisfied that there are many convicts in this prison unprovenly or unjustly confined, and that should have relief.