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 comes of fine feelings!" muttered Jonathan, contemptuously. Sheppard, "and am most grateful for your offer. Go for it. CHAPTER XIX. He pulled rein at the sight of her, saluted, and regarded her with his rather too protuberant eyes.
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