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pitch, that crooked pins and rowan-tree do next to nae good at a'—Bless us a'! I wush the minister war come.

And you have your wish, Nurse; for here he is.

My good Sir, you are welcome: but my heart reproaches me for having brought you from home in such a dreadful night.—What is the matter with you?

He cannot speak.

Sit down in this chair, my good Sir. He is going to faint. Has the lightning touched you, dear Sir?

Not the lightning.