Dick. For old Fudge?

Quot. And quizzing-glass for the attorney's clerk.

Dick. I'll go with them directly, and when I come back take my lunch. Bless me, sir, our beer do want drinking sadly, it be gitting sour.

Quot. Talking of what's sour, where's your mistress? f Dick. Busy among her scholars in the house.

A

Quot. Right! let her stay there; she's in, and I'm out, as Ovid says. Take my apron—I'm off. As to my wifeDick. Hush! she 'll hear you and be angry. Quot. Nonsense! who rules? Am not I (as Milton says) "Cock of the walk?" Get you gone, and haste back, as I am going out soon-I've peeped into the school.

Dick. I am afraid the boys will play the deuce when they find you're from home; what am I to do?

Quot. Flog 'em all round.

Dick. I will, sir; I've put a new rod in pickle on purpose. (Exit.

Quot. Now go I to make a bold push for a fresh customer, as Cowley says. Busy day! a wedding this morning—and—( talking of wedding, puts me in mind of a christening! Festi val, too, in the next parish! fine fun going on-bull-baiting, boxing, and backsword-jumping in sacks, grinning matchi and donkey race! I promised to meet the change-ringers— hope I shall be in time just to take a touch at the triple bobs, as the poet says.

LOOK AT THE CLOCK-INGOLDSBY LEGENDS.

"Look at the clock !" quoth Winifred Pryce,
As she open'd the door to her husband's knock,
Then paus'd to give him a piece of advice,
"You nasty Warmint, look at the Clock!
Is this the way, you

Wretch, every day you

Treat her who vow'd to love and obey you?

Out all night!

Me in a fright;

Staggering home as it's just getting light!
You intoxified brute !-you insensible block !-
Look at the Clock !-Do!-Look at the Clock!"

Winifred Pryce was tidy and clean,

Her gown was a flower'd one, her petticoat green,
Iler buckles were bright as her milking cans,

And her hat was a beaver, and made like a man's;

Her little red eyes were deep set in their socket-holes,

fler govn-tail was turn'd up, and tucked through the pocket

holes;

A face like a ferret

Betoken'd her spirit:

To conclude, Mrs. Pryce was not over young,
Had very short legs, and a very long tongue.

Now David Pryce

Had one darling vice;

Remarkably partial to anything nice,
Especially ale-

If it was not too stale

I really believe he 'd have emptied a pail;
Not that in Wales

They talk of their Ales;

To pronounce the word they make use of might trouble you, Being spelt with a C, two Rs, and a W.

That particular day,

As I've heard people say,

Mr. David Pryce had been soaking his clay,
And amusing himself with his pipe and cheroots
The whole afternoon at the Goat-in-boots.
David felt when his wife cried, "Look at the Clock !"
For the hands stood as crooked as crooked might be,
The long at the Twelve, and the short at the Three !

Mrs. Pryce's tongue ran long and fast;
But patience is apt to wear out at last,

And David Pryce in temper was quick,

So he stretch'd out his hand, and caught hold of a stick,
Perhaps in its use he might mean to be lenient,
But walking just then wasn't very convenient,
So he threw it, instead,

Direct at her head;

It knock'd off her hat;

Down she fell flat;

Her case, perhaps, was not much mended by that.
But whatever it was,-whether rage and pain
Produced apoplexy, or burst a vein,

Or her trouble induced a concussion of brain,
I can't say for certain-but this I can,
When, sober'd by fright, to assist her he ran,
Mrs. Winifred Pryce was as dead as Queen Anne!

Mr. Pryce, Mrs. Winifred Pryce being dead,
Felt lonely, and moped; and one evening he said
He would marry Miss Davis at once in her stead.
Not far from his dwelling,

From the vale proudly swelling,

Rose a mountain; its name you'll excuse me from telling, I For the vowels made use of in Welsh are so few

That the A and the E, the I, O, and the U,

Have really but little or nothing to do;

And the duty, of course, falls the heavier by far
On the L, and the II, and the N, and the R.
Its first syllable "PEN,"

Is pronounceable ;—then

Come two L Ls, and two H Hs, two F Fs, and an N;
About half a score Rs, and some Ws follow,
Beating all my best efforts at euphony hollow:
But we shan't have to mention it often, so when
We do, with your leave, we 'll curtail it to "PEN."

Well-the moon shone bright

Upon "PEN" that night,

When Pryce, being quit of his fuss and his fright,
Was scaling its side

With that sort of a stride

A man puts on when walking in search of a bride,
Mounting higher and higher,
He began to perspire,

Till, finding his legs were beginning to tire,

And feeling opprest

By a pain in his chest,

He paus'd, and turn'd round to take breath, and to rest
When a lumbering noise from behind made him start,
And sent the blood back in full tide to his heart.
Which went pit-a-pat

As he cried out "What's that?"

That very queer sound?

Does it come from the ground?

Or the air, from above, or below, or around?—
It is not like Talking,

It is not like Walking,

It's not like the clattering of pot or of pan,

Or the tramp of a horse,—or the tread of a man,—
Or the hum of a crowd,—or the shouting of boys,-
It's really a deuced odd sort of a noise!

Mr. Pryce had begun

To "make " for a run,

up

As in such a companion he saw no great fun,
When a single bright ray

Shone out on the way

He had passed, and he saw, with no little dismay,
Coming after him, bounding o'er crag and o'er rook,
The deceased Mrs. Winifred's "Grandmother's Clock!!"
'Twas so it had certainly moved from its place,
And come, lumbering on thus, to hold him in chase;

'Twas the very same Head, and the very same Case,
And nothing was altered at all-but the Face!
In that he perceived, with no little surprise,
The two little winder-holes turned into eyes
Blazing with ire,

Like two coals of fire;

And the "Name of the Maker" was changed to a Lip,
And the Hands to a Nose with a very red tip.

No! he could not mistake it,-'twas SHE to the life!
The identical face of his poor defunct Wife!

One glance was enough,

Completely" Quant. Suff.”

As the doctors write down when they send you their "stuff," Like a weather-cock whirled by a vehement puff,

David turned himself round;

Ten feet of ground

He clear'd, in his start, at the very first bound!

All I ever heard of boys, women, or men,

Falls far short of Pryce, as he ran over

He now reaches its brow,

He has past it,-and now

"PEN!"

Having once gained the summit, and managed to cross it, he, Rolls down the side with uncommon velocity

But, run as he will,

Or roll down the hill,

That bugbear behind him is after him still!
And close at his heels, not at all to his liking,
The terrible clock keeps on ticking and striking,
Till, exhausted and sorc,

He can't run any more,

But falls as he reaches Miss Davis's door,

And screams when they rush out, alarm'd at his knock,
"Oh! Look at the Clock!-Do!-Look at the Clock!!"

Mr. David has since had (6
a serious call,"

He never drinks ale, wine, or spirits, at all,