“Mr. Moses, the old clothesman, provided my mendicant wardrobe, and mine host lent the harp, which belongs to an itinerant musician, who charms his parlour company with sweet sounds. I intended, dear Uncle Timothy, to surprise and please you.” “And in truth, Benjamin, thou hast done both. I am surprised and pleased!” And drawing nearer, with a suppressed voice, he added, “When sick and sorrowful, sing me that old harper's song. When thou only art left to smooth my pillow, and close my eyes sing me that old harper's song! ''Twill make me pass the cup of anguish by, Mix with the blest, nor know that I had died. “And you, Jacob Jollyboy,to plot against me with that Israelitish retailer of cast-off duds, Mr. Moses!” continued the satirical-nosed gentleman, labouring hard to conceal his emotion under a taking-to-task frown exceedingly imposing and ludicrous. Mr. Jollyboy looked all confusion and cutlets.. “Where do you expect to go when you die?” “Where Uncle Timothy goes, and '_je suis content_,'as the Frenchman said to not half so dainty a dish of smoking-hot Scotch collops as I have the honour to set before you.” And Mr. Jollyboy breathed, or rather puffed again. The Lauréat, “Neat, trimly drest, Fresh as a bridegroom,” and his face new wash'd, re-entered, and with his usual urbanity did the honours of the supper-table. The Scotch collops having been despatched with hearty good will, Uncle Timothy restricted our future libations to one single bowl. “And mind, Benjamin, only one!” This was delivered with peculiar emphasis. Mr. Bosky bowed obedience to the behest; and, as a nod is as good as a wink, he _nodded_ to Mr. Jollyboy. The bowl was brought in, brimming and beautiful; and it was five good acts of a comedy to watch the features of Uncle Timothy. He first gazed at the bowl, then at the landlord, then at the lauréat, then at us, and then at the bowl again! “Pray, Mr. Jollyboy,” he inquired, “call you this a bowl, or a caldron?” Mr. Jollyboy solemnly deposed as to its being a real bowl; the identical bowl in which six little Jollyboys had been christened. “Is it your intention, Mr. Jollyboy, to christen us too? Let it be tipplers, then, mine host of the Tabard!” “As to the christening, Uncle Timothy, that would be nothing very much out of order--seeing That some great poet says, I'll take my oath, Man is an infant, but of larger growth. “Besides,” argued Mr. Bosky, Socratically, the _dimensions_ of the bowl were not in the record; and as I thought we should be too many for a halfcrown sneaker of punch-” “You thought you would be too many for me! And so you have been. Sit down, Mr. Jollyboy, and help us out of this dilemma. Take a drop of your own physic.” Mr. Jollyboy respectfully intimated he would rather do that than break his arm; and took his seat at the board accordingly.