Plentiful cheer, good humour, and a hearty welcome enlivened Mr. Bosky's table, the shape of which was after the fashion of King Arthur s, and the beef (this Mr. Bosky called having a round with his friends!) was after the fashion of the table. The party would have been a round dozen, but for the temporary absence of Messrs. Hatband and Stiflegig, who stood sentinel at a couple of door-posts round the corner, and were not expected to be off guard until a few glasses had gone round. The conversation was various and animated. Deputy Doublechin, who had a great genius for victuals, declaimed with civic eloquence upon the on-and-off-the-river champagne, white bait, venison and turtle treats, for which Gog and Magog, and the City Chamber “stood Sam the comical coffin-maker rambled on a pleasant excursion to the cemeteries; Mr. Titlepage discoursed fluently upon waste demy; Mr. Bumps examined the craniums of the company, commencing with the “destructive” “adhesive” acquisitive,” “imaginative” and “philoprogenitive” developments of Deputy Doublechin; Mr. Flumgarten, who was “Quite at home!” proved himself a master of every subject, and was most facetious and entertaining; and the Bard of Bleeding Hart Yard, after reciting a couplet of his epitaph upon an heroic young gentleman who was hung in chains, “My uncle's son lies here below, And rests at peace--when the wind don't blow!” sang, _moderato con anima_, his LEGEND OF KING'S-CROSS. Those blythe Bow bells! those blythe Bow bells! a merry peal they ring, And see a band of beaux and belles as jocund as the spring; But who is she with gipsy hat and smart pink satin shoes? The lily fair of Jockey s Fields, the darling of the mews. But where is Jimmy Ostler John, whom folks call “stable Jack”? Alas! he cannot dance the hey, his heart is on the rack. The Corp'ral's cut him to the core, who marries Betsy Brown; The winter of his discontent he spends at Somers' Town. A pot of porter off he toss'd, then gave his head a toss, And look'd cross-buttocks when he met nis rival at King's Cross; The Corp'ral held right gallantly to widows, maids, and wives, A bunch of roses in his fist, and Jack his bunch of fives. Cry'd Betsy Brown, “All Troy I'll to a tizzy bet, 'tis he! I never thought to see you more, methought you went to sea: That you, the crew, and all your togs, (a mouthful for a shark!) Good for nothing, graceless dogs! had perish'd in a bark.” “I'm him as was your lover true, O perjur'd Betsy Brown!