to me, and my own room is so lonesome I can't bear to be in it. Not that I hear any of them noises, excepting in the night time; yet I can't help thinking of it all day long when I am alone.—First it comes to my door, "lowe, lowe, lowe!" just like a great bull: then it comes presently after, "scrie, scrie, scrie!" just like a raven, or a cock, or a cat, or any of those wild animals; and then for the groans that it gives—O! an old jack that has not been oil'd for a twelve-month is a joke to it.
Lady S. (gravely.) Remove this table for me to the other end of the room; it is too much in the sun here. (Pry removes the table near the front of the stage, and Lady S. sits down to write again, without speaking; then looking up and seeing Pry still by her.) Leave me.
Pry. I'm just going, my Lady. I believe I told you, my Lady, that Robert tells me, the vicar always expects the present of a new gown and cassock, when he is sent for to lay a ghost in any genteel house.
Lady S. Leave me, I say; I'll hear no more of that nonsense at present. (Exit Pry, and enter Seabright.)
Sea. What has that absurd creature been chattering about?
Lady S. Still about those strange noises.
Sea. I thought so; every noise is a thief or a ghost with her. Who are you writing to?
Lady S. I am writing to Lady Puler, to beg she will have the goodness to send me a few lines by
