“High Cockolorums and gentlemen! 'Tis easy to say 'live and let live;' but if everybody were to live we must die. Life is short. I wish--present company always excepted--it was as short as my speech!----The grim tyrant!” _Verbum sat._; and there rose a cheer loud enough to have made Death demand what meant those noisy doings at his door. “Silence, gentlemen, for a duet from brothers Hatband and Stiflegig.” Had toast-master Toole * bespoke the attention of the Guildhall grandees for the like musical treat from Gog and Magog, we should hardly have been more surprised. Mr. Bosky looked the incarnation of incredulity. * This eminent professor, whose sobriquet is “Lungs” having to shout the health of “the three present Consuls,” at my Lord Mayor's feast, proclaimed the health of the “Three per Cent. Consols,” After a few preliminary openings and shuttings of the eyes and mouth, similar to those of a wooden Scaramouch when we pull the wires, Brothers Hatband and Stiflegig began (chromatique), Hatband. When poor mutes and sextons have nothing to do, What should we do, brother? Stiflegig. Look very blue I Hatband. Gravediggers too? Stiflegig. Sigh “malheureux!” Hatband. Funerals few? Stiflegig. Put on the screw! Hatband. But when fevers flourish of bright scarlet hue, What should we do, brother? Stiflegig. Dance fillalloo! ---- Both. Winter to us is a jolly trump card, fine hot May makes a fat churchyard! Stiflegig. Should all the world die, what the deuce should we do? Hatband. I'll bury you, brother! Stiflegig. I'll bury you! Hatband. I'll lay you out. Stiflegig. No doubt! no doubt! Hatband. I'll make your shroud. Stiflegig. You do me proud! Hatband. I'll turn the screw. Stiflegig. The same to you! Hatband. When you're past ailing, I'll knock a nail in! Last of the quorum, Ultimus Cockolorum! When you're all dead and buried, zooks! what shall I do? Cockolorums in full chorus. Sing High Cockolorum, and dance fillalloo! “Gentlemen,” said Mr. Merripall, again rising, “all charged? _Mulligrum's Pill!_”