_Husband._ Take care, there’s such a thing as standing in a white sheet!
_Wife._ Curse you! you would provoke a saint.
_Husband._ You seem to be getting into a passion.
_Wife._ Is it any wonder? A white sheet! You ought to be tossed in a blanket. Handsome! I can’t forget that word: my charms are lost on such a tasteless fellow as you.
_Wife._ Don’t provoke me, or I’ll fling this dish at you head.
_Wife._ But I haven’t done: I wish I had drowned myself the first day I saw you.
_Husband._ You’d be the first to cut me down.
_Wife._ Then I ought to be tied up in your stead.
_Husband._ Yes, but I’d be sure you were dead first.
_Husband._ Then ’tis time for me to withdraw; I see by your eyes that the storm is collecting.
_Husband._ I’ll save my poor head, if I can. A good retreat is better than a bad battle.
(_Husband flies, the dish flies after him._)
“We understand that a small hamper was left by a Railway porter, this morning, directed to the Husband, which was found to contain a full grown boy, about three weeks old, with a strawberry mark upon his left arm.
The wife, we are informed, has just ran away along with the Policeman with the big whiskers.
Printed by T. Birt, 10, Great St. Andrew Street, Wholesale and Retail, Seven Dials, London.--Every Description of Printing on Reasonable Terms.
That appeared last night to Henry ---- in this street, of Mary ----, the shopkeeper’s daughter round the corner, in a shroud, all covered in white.
The castle clock struck one--the night was dark, drear, and tempestuous.--Henry set in an antique chamber of it, over a wood fire, which, in the stupor of contemplation, he had suffered to decrease into a few lifeless embers; on the table by him lay the portrait of Mary--the features of which were not very perfectly disclosed by a taper, that just glimmered in the socket. He took up the portrait, however, and gazing intensely upon it, till the taper, suddenly burning brighter, discovered to him a phenomenon he was not less terrified than surprised at.--The eyes of the portrait moved;--the features from an angelic smile, changed to a look of solemn sadness; a tear stole down each cheek, and the bosom palpitated as with sighing.
Again the clock struck _one_--it had struck the same hour but ten minutes before.--Henry heard the castle gate grate on its hinges--it slammed too--the clock struck one again--and a deadly groan echoed through the castle. Henry was not subject to superstituous fears--neither was he a coward;--yet a hero of romance might have been justified in a case like this, should he have betrayed fear.--Henry’s heart sunk within him--his knees smote together, and upon the chamber door being opened, and his name uttered in a hollow voice, he dropped the portrait to the floor; and sat, as if rivitted to the chair, without daring to lift up his eyes. At length, however, as silence again prevailed, he ventured for a moment to raise his eyes, when--my blood freezes as I relate it--before him stood the figure of Mary in a shroud--her beamless eyes fixed upon him with a vacant stare; and her bared bosom exposing a most deadly gash. “Henry, Henry, Henry!” she repeated in a hollow tone--“Henry! I am come for thee! thou hast often said that death with me was preferable to life without me; come then, and enjoy with me all the ecstacies of love these ghastly features, added to the contemplation of a charnel-house, can inspire;” then, grasping his hand with her icy fingers, he swooned; and instantly found himself----stretched on the hearth of his master’s kitchen; a romance in his hand, and the house dog by his side, whose cold nose touching his hand, had awaked him.