Went up to Somerset House to examine the will before he did it. It was always jabbing him with white-hot barbs, waking or sleeping. 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. ‘It does not matter to me if he comes or no, madame.
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