The String of Pearls (1850), p. 238

"Me---me? Conwulsions!"
"Yes---yes. You go, you know, ex officio."
"Ex, the deuce, I don't want to go. Oh conwulsions! conwulsions!"
"We cannot dispense with your services," said the churchwarden. "If you refuse to go, it will be my duty to lay your conduct before the vestry."
"Oh—oh—oh!"
"Get a torch," said Sir Richard Blunt, "and I will lower it down the opening in the floor. If the air is not so bad as to extinguish the light, it will not be too bad for us to breathe for a short space of time."
Most reluctantly, and with terrible misgivings of what might be the result of the frightful adventure into which he was about to be dragged, the beadle fetched a link from the vestry. It was lighted, and Sir Richard Blunt tying a string to it, let it down into the passage beneath the church. The light was not extinguished, but it burnt feebly and with but a wan and sickly lustre.
"It will do," said Sir Richard. "We can live in that place, although a protracted stay might be fatal. Follow me, I will go first, and I hope we shall not have our trouble only for our pains."

CHAPTER L.
THE DESCENT TO THE VAULTS.

Sir Richard commenced the descent.
"Come on," he said. "Come on."
He got down about half a dozen steps, but finding that no one followed him he paused, and called out--
"Remember that time is precious. Come on!"
"Why don't you go?" said the churchwarden to the beadle.
"What! Me go afore a blessed churchwarden? Conwulsions--no! I thinks and I hopes as I knows my place better."
"Well, but upon this occasion, if I don't mind it--"
"No--no, I could not. Conwulsions--no!"
"Ah!" said Sir Richard Blunt. "I see how it is, I shall have to do all this
business alone, and a pretty report I shall have to make to the Secretary of State about the proceedings of the authorities of St. Dunstan's."
The churchwarden groaned.
"I'm a coming, Sir Richard--I'm a coming. Oh dear, I tell you what it is, Mr. Beadle, if you don't follow me, and close too, I'll have you dismissed as sure as eggs is eggs."
"Conwulsions!Conwulsions! I'm a coming."
The churchwarden descended the stairs, and the beadle followed him. Down--down they went, guided by the dim light of the torch carried by Sir Richard, who had not waited for them after the last words he had spoken.
"Can you fetch your blessed breath, sir?" said the beadle.
"Hardly," said the churchwarden, gasping. "It is a dreadful place."
"Oh, yes--yes."
"Stop--Stop. Sir Richard--Sir Richard!"
There was no reply. The light from the torch grew more and more indistinct as Sir Richard Blunt increased his distance from them, and at length they were in profound darkness.
"I can't stand this," cried the churchwarden; and he faced about to ascend to the church again. In his effort to do so quickly, he stretched out his hand, and seized the beadle by the ancle, and as that personage was not quite so firm upon his legs as might be desired, the effort of this sudden assault was to upset him, and he rolled over upon the churchwarden, with a force that brought them