He sat down on a tombstone, and laughed till he could laugh no longer.
"No need to tell me," he said through his laughter, "that he is unchanged; just as mad and energetic as ever, at whatever he takes in hand, whether getting together impossible ministries, or searching the parishregister of an English village.

How do you do, my dear old friend ?" "And how do you do, old democrat ?" answered the Doctor.

"Politics seem to agree with you; I believe you would die without vexation--just excuse me a moment.

Look you here, you infidel," to the Vicar, showing him the register; "there's his name plain--'Burrows, Curate of this parish, 1698.'-- Now what do you say ?" The Vicar acquiesced with a sleepy laugh, and proposed moving homewards.

Miss Thornton hoped that the Doctor would join them at dinner as usual.