--O! 'twill be the death of my poor mistress, cried _Susannah_. --My mother's whole wardrobe followed. --What a procession! her red damask, --her orange tawney, --her white and yellow lutestrings, --her brown taffata, --her bone-laced caps, her bed-gowns, and comfortable under-petticoats. --Not a rag was left behind. --"_No, --she will never look up again_," said _Susannah_.
We had a fat, foolish scullion--my father, I think, kept her for her simplicity; --she had been all autumn struggling with a dropsy. --He is dead, said _Obadiah_, --he is certainly dead! --So am not I, said the foolish scullion.

'O! 'twill be the death of my poor mistress,' cried Susannah. - My mother's whole wardrobe followed. What a procession! her red damask, her yellow lutestrings, her brown taffeta, her laced caps and bed-gowns and under-petticoats. Not a rag was left behind. 'No, she will never look up again,' said Susannah.
We had a fat, foolish scullery-maid who had been all autumn struggling with a dropsy.
'He is dead!' said Obadiah.
'So am not I,' said the foolish scullery-maid.
