A full-curled wig descended half-way down his back and shoulders; a neckcloth of "right Mechlin" was twisted round his throat so tightly as almost to deprive him of breath, and threaten him with apoplexy; he had lace, also, at his wrists and bosom; gold clocks to his hose, and red heels to his shoes. Here and there, patches of flesh adhered to the bones, and the dank dripping hair hanging about what had once been the face, gave it a ghastly appearance. "You don't say so!" replied Mrs. Sepulchre's church was covered—so was the tower. . "Eh-day! what's this?" cried Wood, looking up from beneath his spectacles. " "It is too late," returned Jack, sullenly; "I can't be honest if I would. “Exactly.
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