"Do not shed more blood," cried the carpenter. “I am so sorry to have startled you,” she said, “but I was startled myself. The continuity was frequently broken in upon by diversory suppositions. In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. The ripple of the water against the boat, as its keel cleaves through the stream—the darkling current hurrying by—the indistinctly-seen craft, of all forms and all sizes, hovering around, and making their way in ghostlike silence, or warning each other of their approach by cries, that, heard from afar, have something doleful in their note—the solemn shadows cast by the bridges—the deeper gloom of the echoing arches—the lights glimmering from the banks—the red reflection thrown upon the waves by a fire kindled on some stationary barge—the tall and fantastic shapes of the houses, as discerned through the obscurity;—these, and other sights and sounds of the same character, give a sombre colour to the thoughts of one who may choose to indulge in meditation at such a time and in such a place. The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation. “Indeed,” she said, “I would not. As Jack departed, a dark figure, emerging from behind a wall, rushed after him. He dug about in his mind for a term to fit her, and he came upon the word new.
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