with the most contemptuous acquiescence. "Call me Alexander, Wat Tyler, Abelard, Joe Grimaldi, Scipio Africanus, Martin Van Butchell."

"Ve vont quarrel about Christun names, Mister Timtiffin. Plain Timvig vill do for me. The Muffs and all that's a-skin to 'em is not overpurtickler about names."

Here the poll parrot, that had been listening to and scrutinizing the intruder from head to foot, struck up the old song,

66

"A comical sort of a bird that is!" remarked the master mason. "I'm come, I say, Mister Timvhim to fetch you to Mrs. Flumgarten; for she says it's werry mystified, but you gay-looking, dandyfied, middle-aged gentlemen, (Mrs. Flumgarten hates gay-looking, dandified, middle-aged gentlemen,) are awful loiterers by the vay. You can't see a smart bonnet or a pretty turn'd ankle, but you old galliant gay Lotharios must stop and look after 'em ; and that, she says, is werry low- and the Muffs, Fubsys, and Flumgartens hates vhat's low."

Uncle Timothy made a low bow.

"Mrs. Flumgarten von't go to the Museum: she could abide the stuffed birds and monkeys; but she can't a-bear old war-ses, and old bronzeeyes. She hates, too, them Algerine (Elgin ?) marbles."

The middle-aged gentleman inwardly rejoiced at Mrs. Flumgarten's antipathies.

"And she von't go to the play, for Mrs. Flumgarten hates your acting nonsensical mock stuff; and she don't think she 'll go to the Fancy Fair, for Mrs. Flumgarten-it's wery funny that -hates fun."

At this moment, Mr. Bosky's Louis Quatorze clock struck a musical quarter, and the parrot responded with two lines from one of the laureat's lyrics;

"Quick! quick! be off in a crack;

Cut your stick, or 'twill be on your back!"

and a tag (the schoolmaster had been abroad in Little Britain !) for which my Lord Mayorthe conservator of city morals and the Thames -would have fined him five shillings.

"That Poll parrot swears like a Chrishtun !" Mr. Muff then took hold of Uncle Timothy's arm, adding, “If ve don't make haste, Mrs. Flumgarten vill look as bitter as a duck biled vith camomile-flowers."

Within my solitary bow'r
I saw a quarter of an hour
Fly heavily along!

Mr. Bosky's quarter flew by the "fast flying waggon that flies on broad wheels !"

"Ha!

ha! no creature smarts so little as a fool.' Well

said, Alexander the Little! Poll―pretty Poll!

Pretty Poll let's you and I
Something merry and musical try,
Is my voice too high? too low?
Answer, Polly, yes or no!

Not a word, undutiful bird,

For barley-sugar and sugar-plums-fie!"

But Poll's eyes still goggled at the door through which Uncle Tim and his finery had vanished. An almond or two from that magazin de comfitures, Mr. Bosky's waistcoat pocket, soon revived in the abstracted bird a relish for the good things

of this world. He wetted his whistle cordially with a spoonful of maraschino, and sharpening his beak against the wires of his cage, presented it for a salute. He then gave token of a song, and the laureat led, to the tune of the "Dandy O!"

THE QUAKER DUET.

O Tabitha, in truth, I'm a sober Quaker youth;

Then Hymen's knot, the pretty girls, to spite 'em, tye. My heart is in your trap; you've crimp'd it, like your

сар;

And much the spurrit moves me-hum!-toPOLL.

Tye tum tye!

And when the knot is tyed, and you're my blushing

bride,

The damsels will (for leading apes must fright 'em,)

tye

The rosy bands with speed. O yes, they will, indeed! And the chorus at our meeting will be

I cannot hear you sigh, ah! I will not see you cry, ah!

My constant Obadi-ah! to unite 'em; tye

Our hands and hearts in one, before to-morrow's sunThen take thy tender Tabitha to—

CHAPTER VIII.

THE Laureat of Little Britain was now left at liberty to follow his daily avocations; but that liberty was no guarantee that he would follow them; except, as some folks follow the fashions, at a considerable distance. He read the morning papers, went upon 'Change, inquired the price of stocks, set his watch by the dial of Bow Church, returned home, turned over the leaves of his ledger, hummed, whistled, poked the fire, scribbled on the blotting-paper, and cracked a joke with his solemn clerk. Still, with all these manifestations of being mightily busy about doing nothing, it was obvious that his wits were running a wild goose chase after Uncle Timothy's new blue coat and brass buttons. But the oddest is behind. Mrs. Norah Noclack suddenly betrayed