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 The husbandman looked up to heaven, and then burst into the most violent hysterics. Vivian could scarcely hold down the powerful, and convulsed, frame of Conyers on his rugged seat; but the wife advanced from the back of the room, and her husband's head rested against her bosom. Vivian held his honest hand, and the eldest girl rose unbidden from her silent sorrow, and clung to her father's knee.

"The fit is over," whispered the wife. "There, there, there's a man, all is now well;" and Vivian left him resting on his wife's bosom.

"Here, you curly-headed rascal, scamper down to the village immediately, and bring up a basket of something to eat; and tell Morgan Price, that Mr. Grey says he's to send up a couple of beds, and some chairs here immediately, and some plates and dishes, and every thing else, and don't forget a bottle of wine;" so saying, Vivian flung the urchin a sovereign.