"We are met here to-night, honoured by the presence o' Brother Silas Barker." "He--ar, he--ar," and a "hooray." "And Brother Silas Barker is delicate, from the payrent lodge o' Brothers in London." "Drink along o' me, mate," growled Big Harry, holding out his mug to the deputation, "that'll keep you from being delicate." "You, Harry," cried Sim, "don't interrupt. You ain't one of our most trustworthy brothers. You've fote on the wrong side afore now." "I'll faight yow for a gill o' ale any day, Simmy Slee," said Harry, winking solemnly across the table at a mate. "Don't you int'rupt the meeting wi' ignorant remarks," said Sim, taking no notice of the challenge. "I said delicate fro' the--fro' the--" "Payrent society," said Mr Barker, prompting. "All raight, I know," said Sim, pettishly; "fro' payrent society. Came down to Doomford to tell us suff'ring wuckmen as the eyes o' the Bri'sh wucking man i' London and all the world is upon us." There was vociferous cheering at this, during which Big Harry confidentially informed his mate across the table, that he'd "Tak' Sim Slee wi' one hand tied behind him, and t'other chap, too, one down and t'other come on." "We're met together here, mates--met together," continued Sim, whose flow of oratory had not yet begun, but who was gradually warming--"met together, mates, to bring things to a big crisis, and let the thunder of the power of the sons of labour--" "Here, let's hev in some more ale," shouted some one at the other end. "Why can't yow be quiet? interrupting that how," cried Sim, remonstrating. "Yow can't hev no more ale till the debate's ended. Do you want to hev the mummy--mummy--" "Course we don't," said Big Harry, aloud. "But who's him?" "I say," cried Sim, angrily, "do you want to have the mummy--mummy"-- then angrily to Barker, "Why don't you tell a fellow?" "Myrmidons--myrmidons of"--whispered Barker. "All raight, all raight," said Sim, impatiently, "I know--mummy-- mummidons of a brutal holygarchy down upon us?" "And hale us off," whispered Barker, for Sim had evidently forgotten his speech. "Yes, yes, I know," whispered Sim. Then aloud, "And hale us off--" "Hear, hear!" roared Harry, hammering his empty mug on the table; "raight, lad, raight. Here, sum un, tell the mummy to bring the ale." "Sit down, Harry," shouted Sim. "I say hale us off to fresh chains and slavery. I say, mates," cried Sim, now growing excited, and waving his hands about, "as the holygartchy of a brutal mummidom." "No, no," whispered Barker, behind his hand, "Myrmidons of a brutal oligarchy." "Yes, yes, I know," cried Sim; "but they don't. It's all the same to them. Yes, mates, a brutal mummidom, and a holygartchy, and as I was a saying, our fellow sittyzens in London have been a wackin o' 'em oop. They've gone arm in arm, in their horny-handed strength, like brave sons of tyle, with gentlemen playing their bands o' music." "Hear, hear!" "And colours flying--"