Lord bless you marm! we sees plenty on 'em in our purfession. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. Looking sullen, he released the handle and sat back. This circumstance produced no further alteration in his demeanour except that he endeavoured to abstract himself from the surrounding scene, and bend his attention to the prayers which the ordinary was reciting. “These are her rooms,” she said. But if he starts a long jog, his name is Dennis.
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