Jonathan was no mean scholar for his station in life, and, during his service with the undertaker, he had acquired the English of all the Latin mottoes which are placed upon the hatchments; and these mottoes, when he considered them as apt, he was very apt to quote. We left Jonathan standing at the door; he had closed it, and the handle still remained in his hand. 'Jonathan,' said Mr. Witherington, after a long pause, 'I wish to look at the last letter from New York; you will find it on my dressing-table.' Jonathan quitted the room without reply, and made his reappearance with the letter. 'It is a long time that I have been expecting this vessel, Jonathan,' observed Mr. Witherington, unfolding the letter. 'Yes, sir, a long while; _tempus fugit_,' replied the butler in a low tone, half shutting his eyes. 'I hope to God no accident has happened,' continued Mr. Witherington; 'my poor little cousin and her twins! e'en now that I speak, they may be all at the bottom of the sea.' 'Yes, sir,' replied the butler; 'the sea defrauds many an honest undertaker of his profits.' 'By the blood of the Witheringtons! I may be left without an heir, and shall be obliged to marry, which would be very uncomfortable.' 'Very little comfort,' echoed Jonathan--'my wife is dead. _In coelo quies._' 'Well, we must hope for the best; but this suspense is anything but comfortable,' observed Mr. Witherington, after looking over the contents of the letter for at least the twentieth time. 'That will do, Jonathan; I'll ring for coffee presently;' and Mr. Witherington was again alone and with his eyes fixed upon the ceiling.