ned towards the attendant mariners.

'The search has been quite unsuccessful then?'

'Quite, master. But I should say that if he turns up anywhere, he'll
come ashore somewhere about Grinidge to-morrow, at ebb tide, eh, mate?'

The other gentleman assented, observing that he was expected at the
Hospital, and that several pensioners would be ready to receive him
whenever he arrived.

'Then we have nothing for it but resignation,' said Mr Brass; 'nothing
but resignation and expectation. It would be a comfort to have his
body; it would be a dreary comfort.'

'Oh, beyond a doubt,' assented Mrs Jiniwin hastily; 'if we once had
that, we should be quite sure.'

'With regard to the descriptive advertisement,' said Sampson Brass,
taking up his pen. 'It is a melancholy pleasure to recall his traits.
Respecting his legs now--?'

'Crooked, certainly,' said Mrs Jiniwin. 'Do you think they WERE
crooked?' said Brass, in an insinuating tone. 'I think I see them now
coming up the street very wide apart, in nankeen' pantaloons a little
shrunk and without straps. Ah! what a vale of tears we live in. Do we
say crooked?'

'I think they were a little so,' observed Mrs Quilp with a sob.

'Legs crooked,' said Brass, writing as he spoke. 'Large head, short
body, legs crooked--'

Very crooked,' suggested Mrs Jiniwin.

'We'll not say very crooked, ma'am,' said Brass piously. 'Let us not
bear hard upon the weaknesses of the deceased. He is gone, ma'am, to
where his legs will never come in question.--We will content ourselves
with crooked, Mrs Jiniwin.'

'I thought you wanted the truth,' said the old lady. 'That's all.'

'Bless your eyes, how I love you,' muttered Quilp. 'There she goes
again. Nothing but punch!'

'This is an occupation,' said the lawyer, laying down his pen and
emptying his glass, 'which seems to bring him before my eyes like the
Ghost of Hamlet's father, in the very clothes that he wore on
work-a-days. His coat, his waistcoat, his shoes and stockings, his
trousers, his hat, his wit and humour, his pathos and his umbrella, all
come before me like visions of my youth. His linen!' said Mr Brass
smiling fondly at the wall, 'his linen which was always of a particular
colour, for such was his whim and fancy--how plain I see his linen now!'

'You had better go on, sir,' said Mrs Jiniwin impatiently.

'True, ma'am, true,' cried Mr Brass. 'Our faculties must not freeze
with grief. I'll trouble you for a