Forster, we had better proceed to business. Spinney, where are the
papers?" The clerk produced an inventory of the effects of the late Mr
Thompson, and laid them on the table.--"Melancholy thing, this, ma'am,"
continued the curate, "very melancholy indeed! But we must all die."

"Yes, thank Heaven!" muttered Nicholas, in an absent manner.

"Thank Heaven, Mr Forster!" cried the lady,--"why, do you wish to die?"

"I was not exactly thinking about myself, my dear," replied
Nicholas--"I--"

"Depend upon it she'll last a long while yet," interrupted Mr Hilton.

"Do you think so?" replied Nicholas, mournfully.

"Oh! sure of it; I stripped her the other day, and examined her all
over; she's as sound as ever."

Nicholas started, and stared Hilton in the face; while Newton, who
perceived their separate train of thought, tittered with delight.

"What are you talking of?" at last observed Nicholas.

"Of the sloop, to be sure," replied Hilton.

"I rather imagine that you came to consult about Mr Thompson's effects,"
observed Mrs Forster, angrily--"rather a solemn subject, instead of--"

"Ha, ha, ha!" ejaculated the curate, who had just _taken_ the equivoque