When Claude Du Val was in Newgate thrown, He carved his name on the dungeon stone; Quoth a dubsman, who gazed on the shattered wall, "You have carved your epitaph, Claude Du Val, With your chisel so fine, tra la!" "This S wants a little deepening," mused the apprentice, retouching the letter in question; "ay, that's better. That was the Frenchie, Valade, surely. Woman's love of silk is not set by fashion; it is bred in the bone; and somewhere, somehow, a woman will have her bit of silk. “I like you very much John.
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