"I have," replied Jonathan. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. “He was alive at four o’clock this afternoon,” she answered, “but the doctors give little hope of his recovery. "What is it?" demanded the woollen-draper, as he returned to the table, and took up a glass. It was too good to be true.
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