"Warrant I catch my death a-cold," muttered the wife. "But, dear me, here's a paper!" exclaimed the old man. "Vinegar and brown paper," echoed the old woman. "Addressed to the governors of the hospital," continued the porter. "Apply to the dispenser of the hospital," continued his wife. "And sealed," said he. "Get it healed," said she. "The linen is good; it must be the child of no poor people. Who knows?"--soliloquised the old man. "My poor nose!" exclaimed the old woman. "I must take it to the nurses, and the letter I will give to-morrow," said the old porter, winding up his portion of this double soliloquy, and tottering away with the basket and your humble servant across the court-yard. "There, it will do now," said the old wife, wiping her face on a towel, and regaining her bed, in which she was soon joined by her husband, and they finished their nap without any further interruption during that night. The next morning I was reported and examined, and the letter addressed to the governors was opened and read. It was laconic, but still, as most things laconic are, very much to the point. "This child was born in wedlock--he is to be named Japhet. When circumstances permit, he will be reclaimed." But there was a postscript by Abraham Newland, Esquire, promising to pay the bearer, on demand, the sum of fifty pounds. In plainer terms, there was a bank note to that amount inclosed in the letter. As in general the parties who suspend children in baskets, have long before suspended cash payments, or, at all events, forget to suspend them with the baskets, my arrival created no little noise, to which I added my share, until I obtained a share of the breast of a young woman, who, like Charity, suckled two or three babies at one time.