"You don't mean to say the honey-pots!" said Quickset, with some alarm, and letting go the bridle of Old Ball, who very quietly led Old Dumpling back again into the stable; "you don't mean to say the honey-pots?" "I don't mean to say the honey-pots," said Thickset, literally following the instructions he had received. "What made you screech out then?" said Quickset, appealing to Thickset. "What made me screech out then?" said Thickset, appealing to Quickset, and determined to say as he said. "The fellow's drunk," said the landlord; "the ale's got into his head." "Ale,-what ale has he had?" inquired Quickset, rather anxiously. Ale,-what ale have I had?" echoed Thickset, looking sober with all his might. "He's not drunk," shouted Quickset; "there's something the matter." "I'm not drunk; there is something the matter," bellowed Thickset, and with his fore-finger he pointed to the waggon. "You don't mean to say the honey," said Quickset, his voice falling. "I don't mean to say the honey," said Thickset, his caution rising. The gesture of Thickset, however, had conveyed some vague notion of danger to his companion. With the agility of a cat he climbed on the waggon, and with the super-human activity of a demon, soon pitched down every bundle of besoms. There is a proverb that new brooms sweep clean," and they certainly seemed to have swept every particle of honey clean out of the waggon. Quickset was thunderstruck; he stood gazing at the empty vehicle in silence; while his hands wandered wildly through his hair, as if in search of the absent combs. When he found words at last, they were no part of the Litany Words, however, did not suffice to vent his passion; and he began to stamp and dance about, till the mud of the stable-yard flew round like anything you like. "A plague take him and his honey-pots, too," said the chambermaid, as she looked at a new pattern on her best gingham. "It's no matter," said Quickset, "I won't lose it. The house must stand the damage. Mr. Bush, I shall look to you for the money." "He shall look to you for the money," da-capo'd Thickset. "You may look till doomsday," said the landlord. "It's all your own fault; I thought nobody would steal brooms. If you had told me there was honey, I would have put the waggon under lock and key." "Why, there was honey," said Quickset and Thickset. "I don't know that," said Mr. Bush, "you said last night in the kitchen there was nothing but brooms." "I heard him," said John Ostler; "I'll take my oath to his very words!" "And so will 1," roar'd the chambermaid, glancing at her damaged gown. "What of that?" said Quickset; "I know I said there was nothing but brooms." "I know," said Thickset, "I'm positive, he said there was nothing but brooms." "He confesses it himself," said the landlady. "And his own man speaks agin him," said the chambermaid. "I saw the waggon come in, and it didn't seem to have any honey in it," said the head waiter. May be the flies have eaten it," said the postilion. "I've seen two chaps the very moral of them two at the bar of the Old Bailey," said Boots. "It's a swindle, it is," said the landlady, "and Mr. Bush shan't pay a farthing." "They deserve tossing in a blanket," said the chambermaid. "Duck 'em in the horsepond," shouted John Ostler. "I think," whispered Thickset, "they are making themselves up for mischief!" There was no time to be lost. Quickset again lugged Old Ball and Old Dumpling from the stable, while his companion tossed the brooms into the waggon. As soon as possible they drove out of the unlucky vard, and as they passed under the arch, I heard for the last time the voice of Thickset: "You've been to London before, and to be sure know best; but somehow, to my mind, the telling the untruth don't seem to answer." The only reply was a thwack, like the report of a pistol, on the crupper of each of the horses. The poor animals broke directly into something like a canter; and as the waggon turned a corner of the street, I shut down the sash, and resumed my "Illustrations of Lying." "With loss of blood I fainted off, As dead as women doBut soon by charging over me, The Coldstream brought me to. "With kicks and cuts, and balls and 1 throb and ache all over; [blows, I'm quite convinc'd the field of Mars Is not a field of clover! "O why did I a soldier turn For any royal Guelph ? "O why did I the bounty take "He is become already a very promising miller."-Bell's Life in London I was walking very leisurely one evening down Cripplegate, when I overtook-who could help overtaking him?-a lame elderly gentle. man, who, by the nature of his gait, appeared to represent the Ward. Like certain lots at auctions, he seemed always going, but never gone : |