"To return to our sheep" from this little digression:-- Blogg's features assumed a complacent expression As he emptied his glass, and she gave him a fresh one; Too little he heeded How fast they succeeded. Perhaps you or I might have done, though, as he did; For when once Madam Fortune deals out her hard raps, It's amazing to think How one "cottons" to Drink! At such times, of all things in nature, perhaps, There's not one that is half so seducing as _Schnaps_. Mr. Blogg, besides being uncommonly dry, Was, like most other Bagmen, remarkably shy, --"Did not like to deny"-- "Felt obliged to comply" Every time that she ask'd him to "wet t'other eye;" For 'twas worthy remark that she spared not the stoup, Though before she had seem'd so to grudge him the soup. At length the fumes rose To his brain; and his nose Gave hints of a strong disposition to doze, And a yearning to seek "horizontal repose."-- His queer-looking host, Who, firm at his post, During all the long meal had continued to toast That garment 'twere rude to Do more than allude to, Perceived, from his breathing and nodding, the views Of his guest were directed to "taking a snooze:" So he caught up a lamp in his huge dirty paw, With (as Blogg used to tell it) "_Mounseer, swivvy maw!_" And "marshall'd" him so "The way he should go," Upstairs to an attic, large, gloomy, and low, Without table or chair, Or a moveable there, Save an old-fashion'd bedstead, much out of repair, That stood at the end most remov'd from the stair.-- With a grin and a shrug The host points to the rug, Just as much as to say, "There!--I think you'll be snug!" Puts the light on the floor, Walks to the door, Makes a formal _Salaam_, and is then seen no more; When just as the ear lost the sound of his tread, To the Bagman's surprise, and, at first, to his dread, The great curly-tail'd Dog crept from under the bed!--