“Yes, marm,” replied the 'fiddle,' obsequiously; and, whispering the 'harp' and 'bass,' they played the air to her heart's content. In fact, if one might guess by the agility with which she ran into the kitchen, she was quite melted; and, returning with the remnants of a gooseberry pie and the best part of a shoulder of mutton, she handed them to the musicians. “Thanky'e, marm, I'm sure,” said the 'bass,' sticking his teeth into the pie-crust. “The mutton 's rayther fat, but it 's sweet, at any rate--” “Yes, marm,” said the 'fiddle;' “it's too fat for your stomach, I'm sure, marm;” and consigned it to his green-baize fiddle-case. “Now,” said Molly,--“play us, 'Drink to me only,' and I'll draw you a mug o' table-ale.” “You're vastly kind,” said the 'fiddle;' “it's a pleasure to play anythink for you, marm, you've sich taste;” and then turning to his comrades, he added, with a smile--“By goles! if she ain't the woppingest cretur as ever I set eyes on--” The tune required was played, and the promised ale discussed. The 'bass,' with a feeling of gratitude, voted that they should give a parting air unsolicited. “Vot shall it be?” demanded the 'harp.' “Vy, considering of her size,” replied the 'fiddle,' “I thinks as nothink couldn't be more appropriate than 'Farewell to the mountain!'” and, striking up, they played the proposed song, marching on well pleased with the unexpected appreciation of their musical talent by the kind, and munificent Molly Scraggs! THE EATING HOUSE. From twelve o'clock until four, the eating houses of the City are crammed with hungry clerks. Bills of fare have not yet been introduced,--the more's the pity; but, in lieu thereof, you are no sooner seated in one of the snug inviting little settles, with a table laid for four or six, spread with a snowy cloth, still bearing the fresh quadrangular marks impressed by the mangle, and rather damp, than the dapper, ubiquitous waiter, napkin in hand, stands before you, and rapidly runs over a detailed account of the tempting viands all smoking hot, and ready to be served up. “Beef, boiled and roast; veal and ham; line of pork, roast; leg boiled, with pease pudding; cutlets, chops and steaks, greens, taters, and pease,” etc. etc. Some are fastidious, and hesitate; the waiter, whose eyes are 'all about him,' leaves you to meditate and decide, while he hastens to inform a new arrival, and mechanically repeats his catalogue of dainties; and, bawling out at the top of his voice, “One roast beaf and one taters,” you echo his words, and he straightway reports your wishes in the same voice and manner to the invisible purveyors below, and ten to one but you get a piece of boiled fat to eke out your roast meat.