The estates must, ere long, revert to Sir Rowland. "Why does she weep?" Ruth wanted to know. Bulging out more in the middle than at the two extremities, it resembled an enormous cask set on its end, —a sort of Heidelberg tun on a large scale,—and this resemblance was increased by the small circular aperture—it hardly deserved to be called a door—pierced, like the bung-hole of a barrell, through the side of the structure, at some distance from the ground, and approached by a flight of wooden steps. Home!— which I never hoped to see again. “A ballot-box, you know,” he said, “is very largely just a box. "Man, man! You're coming to life.
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