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 your face, and I recollect Jane said you had been good to her)—I pray you go, and say a few words over her: but stay—don't bring in my name—you understand. I don't wish God to recollect that there lives such a man as he who now addresses you. Holloa! (shouting to the women,) my hat, and stick too. Fal lal la! fal la!—why should these things make us play the madman? It is a fine day, Sir: we shall have a late winter. Curse the b! how long she is. Yet the hat was left below. But when a death is in the house. Sir, it throws things into confusion: don't you find it so?"

Here, one of the women, pale, trembling, and tearful, brought the ruffian his hat; and placing it deliberately on his head, and bowing with a dreadful and convulsive attempt to smile, he walked slowly away, and disappeared.

"What strange mummers grief makes!" said the Curate. "It is an appalling spectacle when it thus wrings out feeling from a man of that mould! But, pardon me, my young friend; let me tarry here for a moment."