"But suppose it be not for myself, what then?"

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Why, if thou hadst answered yea or nay, when I civilly questioned thee, thou mightest have gotten thy satisfaction."

“Well then, thou quibbling ignoramus, I want to send it to a customer, and what then?"

"Yea then, (now I will try thy veracity, thought Jonathan) in that case, neighbour Waller, the charge will be ten shillings more."

"O! sayst thou so!-why thou over-reaching fraudulent, here is a pretty specimen of quaker cunning: a notable way of cheating; why master sheep-face, thou art a greater rogue than I suspected."

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Sixty shillings, friend Waller, albeit three pounds. They will be much riz in price, I am moved to calculate within, a calendar month; for verily the demand exceedeth the labour of the ingenious workers in paint, and already doth the times manifest by the multiplying of loyal signs, the marvellous goodness of the Giver of peace, unto thy long afflicted people. Ho

sanna!"

"Hold thy cant, and keep thy breath to cool thy pottage, I am rather too old to be cozened of

my wit, by thy artful forbearance, thou cunning disciple of that wily old Fox, so let's have no more of it, I shall take thy first price, I only wanted to know the difference, and then, cunning Isaac, mind me, I shall have an abatement, I pay ready money."

"Thou hast only thine own consent, friend Wailer. There are two parties to this bargain, and I am moved in integrity to my employer, to take thee at thine own word," when Jonathan reached the order-book, and taking the pen from his ear, and dipping it into the ink, he added, "I will thank thee, neighbour, to hand me the direction to thy country correspondent; it will be packed carefully, carried to the Inn, and forwarded forthwith by waggon, providence permitting.”

"Inn! waggon! hey, cunning Isaac ! why I tell thee, the sign is for myself, for my own shop; what now, aye! thou art a quaker sure enough."

"Friend Waller, thou hast just said, that the sign was not for thyself, and wouldst thou, that I should suspect thee of a non-truth: that thou wouldst falsify thyself for ten shillings; that were not charitable. Sixty shillings be the

market price thou wilt be constrained to pay, or the sign will not be removed to thy order."

“Aye, aye, as I suspect, what, put the difference in thy own pocket. I shall up to Master Barlowe's premises myself, and talk over the matter with him. I am a match for thee, master smooth face; meek mister yea and nay. Alas! what will this land come to! what of your sectaries, and back-sliders one and 'tother: Anabaptists, Independents, Quakers, Seekers, Shakers, Muggletonians, and I wot not what else beside, Lord preserve us! Have you, or have you not a mind to make a deal of it? Come now, where will be the hurt, suppose I pay thee the first price, and then divide the difference, five shillings I save, where's the harm o' that, Jonathan, hey? and five for thyself, and nobody is wronged, nay 'tis a free gift o' my part: come, agreed, let's have no words, hey? the bargain is struck.”

"The spirit moveth me to answer nay," replied Jonathan, "thou mayest go to the backside of our premises, if thou wilt, friend, and drive thy bargain with the good man above."

The prying old Waller, not displeased at the

opportunity to speculate upon what was going on in the manufactory, went through the house, across the back yard, and ascended the steep step-ladder which led to Barlowe's painting loft. This was a long, spacious, crazy building of lath and plaster, with oiled paper instead of glass, and the walls daubed with monsters of all kinds, by the urchin colour grinders. He obtained admission amongst the busy painters, five-and-twenty at least, exclusive of apprentices, manufacturing symbols of loyalty, with palette on thumb, copying their respective patterns, King's arms for church altars, and King's heads for sign-posts, with the utmost diligence, as every town and every village were pouring orders in upon the thriving concern, faster than they could supply them. Hence the audacious. Killegrew observed to the king, shortly after

* Thomas Killegrew, the poet and play-wright, born in 1611, had been page of honour to King Charles I. and was appointed groom of the bed-chamber to Charles II., whom he faithfully attended during his exile. This lively wight, whose person was almost as comical as his humour, was a great favourite with the gay

his Restoration, " And please your Majesty, that republican dog, Matt Barlowe, is making the amende honorable, or the devil's in it." "How so?" inquired the king. "Why please you, most sacred sire, is he not planting loyalty all over the kingdom, and making the face royal in every village as common as crab-apples ?"

"Hilloa! and who sent for you old screwpenny?" said Matt Barlowe, as the bookseller entered the loft, winking to Colonel Ingoldsby, whispering, "let us have a little fun with my jockey."

Ingoldsby was in disguise, sitting as a special favour to aid his old friend Matthew, in fabricating a sign at the expence of Prynne the Puritan. Ingoldsby, though without his malice, was as frolicsome as Lord Rochester, or the wittiest of the mad-cap courtiers, who had

monarch. Indeed privileged by his wit, he could obtain access to the king, when his ministers were denied an audience. By those of the court, who envied the favourite, he was commonly designated the king's jester. Killegrew wrote eleven plays, and was buried in Westminster Abbey, in 1682.