“At length, he went at it, and repeated over an infinite quantity of names. It was wonderful to see how he could keep them all in his head. ‘Well, now,’ says he, turning to me with an inoffensive laugh, ‘she ben’t dead. You may bet on that. There now!’ he spoke, as if suddenly becoming conscious of a recently-made discovery. ‘Why, she runned wild about here, as I does, for a time; was abused and knocked about by everybody. Oh, she had a hard time enough, God knows that.’ ‘But that is not disclosing to me what became of her,’ says I; ‘come, be serious, Graves.’ (We call him this, you see, Madame, for the reason that he is always among graveyards.) Then he went into a singing mood, sang two plaintive songs, and had sung a third and fourth, if I had not stopped him. ‘Well,’ he says, ‘that woman ain’t dead, for I’ve called up in my mind the whole graveyard of names, and her’s is not among them. Why not, good gentleman, (he seized me by the arm as he said this,) inquire of Milman Mingle, the vote-cribber? He is a great politician, never thinks of poor Graves, and wouldn’t look into a graveyard for the world. The vote-cribber used to live with her, and several times he threatened to hang her, and would a hanged her-yes, he would, sir-if it hadn’t a been for the neighbors. I don’t take much interest in the living, you know. But I pitied her, poor thing, for she was to be pitied, and there was nobody but me to do it. Just inquire of the vote-cribber.’ I knew the simpleton never told an untruth, being in no way connected with our political parties.” “Never told an untruth, being in no way connected with our political parties!” repeats Madame Montford, who has become more calm. “I gave him a few shillings, he followed me to the gate, and left me muttering, ‘Go, inquire of the vote-cribber.’” “And have you found this man?” inquires the anxious lady. “I forthwith set about it,” replies Mr. Snivel, “but as yet, am unsuccessful. Nine months during the year his residence is the jail—” “The jail!”