The gate was opened; the coffin brought into the churchyard; and Jack, whose eyes were filled with tears, saw Mr. What's it like, Joan?" "It's a small key, with curiously-fashioned wards. ‘Up, Jacques, up,’ she ordered. She rolled to one side. "Come to my arms, Thames! Oh! dear! Oh! dear!" To repeat the questions and congratulations which now ensued, or describe the extravagant joy of the carpenter, who, after he had hugged his adopted son to his breast with such warmth as almost to squeeze the breath from his body, capered around the room, threw his wig into the empty fire-grate, and committed various other fantastic actions, in order to get rid of his superfluous satisfaction—to describe the scarcely less extravagant raptures of his spouse, or the more subdued, but not less heartfelt delight of Winifred, would be a needless task, as it must occur to every one's imagination. .
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