“That,” replied the Lauréat, “can my cousin's wife's uncle's aunt's sister best say. Three hours ago I left him on the top of St. Paul's; by this time he may be at the bottom of the Thames Tunnel, or at Madame Tussaud's, _tête-à-tête_ with Oliver Cromwell, Napoleon, and Young Oxford.” A murmur of disappointment rose from the brethren, with a benediction on distant relations that did not keep a hundred miles off. “Gentlemen,” resumed the President, “'if sack and sugar be a sin, God help the wicked!' Since we cannot have Uncle Timothy's good company, we will have his good health. Uncle Timothy, with three!” A heartfelt cheer made the old hostelrie ring again. Uprose the Lauréat--but a twinkle from the eye of the President to a covey of intelligent cronies, on whom the scarlet rays of his countenance more intensely fell, produced a supplementary cheer that shook the Cloth-quarter. Mr. Bosky was thrown a little off his balance. He paused--flushed--but his heart having left his mouth, he replenished the vacuum with a bumper, assuring the company that they might as soon expect from him a long face as a long speech. For their kind wishes to Uncle Timothy he thanked them from the bottom of his soul--and glass! “Gentlemen, when the money-grub retires, no regrets follow him to his unsociable crib; nothing misses him but the everlasting counter, to which cupidity has so long nailed his bird-limed fingers. How different with a generous spirit! with whom are associated the remembrance of happy hours snatched from the dull realities of life! This day terminates the mercantile career of our worthy President. May he be blest in his retirement! Gentlemen, the health of Mr. Deputy Doublechin--(no skylights, Brother Blizzard!)--upstanding, with all the honours!” The two corporation members having taken “their whack,” were not to be roused without a smart thump on the shoulder. The deputy returned thanks in a pleasant vein. “My friends,” he added, “short reckonings--you know the old adage--I am a song in your debt, and as the one I now volunteer will be the last of the many I have sung in this cosey corner, my vocal Vale shall be our tutelary freebooter.” And with “full-throated ease” this jovial impersonation of John Bull chanted-- ROBIN HOOD. Robin Hood! Robin Hood I a lawgiver good. Kept his High Court of Justice in merry Sherwood. No furr'd gown, or fee, wig, or bauble had he; But his bench was a verdant bank under a tree! And there sat my Lord of his own good accord, With his Peers of the forest to keep watch and ward; To arbitrate sure between rich and poor, The lowly oppress'd and the proud evil doer. His nobles they are without riband or star, No 'scutcheon have they with a sinister bar; But Flora with leaves them a coronet weaves,