"You're not hurt I hope, Sir Rowland?" inquired this individual. ‘I do not command your services, mon major. "I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. ” “I am not sure whether I feel inclined to scold or thank you,” she declared. \" He said with a question in his voice, a question that revealed that he was intimidated, and not only that, but he had it bad. Before retracing his steps, however, he allowed his gaze to range over the vast and beautiful prospect spread out beneath him, which is now hidden, from the traveller's view by the high walls of the General Cemetery, and can, consequently, only be commanded from the interior of that attractive place of burial,—and which, before it was intersected by canals and railroads, and portioned out into hippodromes, was exquisite indeed. ‘Can you not open it?’ she cried.
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