I'll ask the Squire for the things this very night when he drops in.

Hark! ain't that a sort of rumbling in the wall?
I hope there ain't any oven next door; if so, I shall be scorched out.
Here I am, just like a rat in the wainscot.

I wish there was a low window to look out of.

I wonder what Doctor Franklin is doing now, and Paul Jones?
Hark! there's a bird singing in the leaves.

Bell for dinner, that." And for pastime, he applied himself to the beef and bread, and took a draught of the wine and water.
At last night fell.