“But,” said Uncle Timothy, “let us have the entire _dramatis personæ_ of the harper's interlude. We are minus his groom of the stole. Send our compliments over the way for Mr. Moses.” Mr. Moses was summoned, and he sidled in with a very high stock, with broad pink stripes, and a very low bow--hoping “de gentlemensh vash quite veil.” “Still,” cried Mr. Bosky, “we are not all mustered. The harp!” And instantly the lauréat “with flying fingers touched the” wires. “A song from Uncle Timothy, for which the musical bells of St. Saviour's tell us there is just time.” He then struck the instrument to a lively tune, and the middle-aged gentleman sang with appropriate feeling, “THE TABARD. “Old Tabard! those time-honour'd timbers of thine. Saw the pilgrims ride forth to St. Thomas's shrine; When the good wife of Bath Shed a light on their path. And the squire told his tale of Cambuscan divine. From his harem th' alarum shrill chanticleer crew, And uprose thy host and his company too; The knight rein'd his steed, And a f Gentles, God speed!' The pipes of the miller right merrily blew. There shone on that morning a halo, a ray, Old Tabard I round thee, that shall ne'er pass away; When the fam'd Twenty-Nine At the glorified shrine Of their martyr went forth to repent and to pray. Though ages have roll'd since that bright April morn, And the steps of the shrine holy palmers have worn, As, weary and faint, They kneel'd to their saint-- It still for all time shall in memory be borne. Old Tabard! old Tabard! thy pilgrims are we! What a beautiful shrine has the Bard made of thee I When a ruin's thy roof, And thy walls, massy proof-- The ground they adorn'd ever hallow'd shall be.” CHAPTER VII.