'" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. He had been very easy or she had been very lucky. Now, Sir, will you please to follow me?" Mr. Even in his fevered hours, so the girl had said, his tongue had not betrayed him. "You soon shall," rejoined Sheppard. What might it have been?’ Mrs Sindlesham shook her head helplessly. —"As Rowland's whole crew perished in the tempest, and he only escaped by miracle, he fancied himself free from detection.
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