"You agreed to take a shilling a-head," said the English master. "You said you would take one shilling for my head," said the French master.

"It's for the luggage," said the coachman.

The Frenchman seemed thunderstruck; but there was no help for it. He pulled out a small weazle-bellied, brown silk purse, but there was nothing in it save a medal of Napoleon. Then he felt his breastpockets, then his side-pockets, and then his waistcoat-pockets; but they were all empty, excepting a metal snuffbox, and that was empty too. Lastly he felt the pockets in the flaps of his coat, taking out a meagre would-be white handkerchief, and shaking it; but not a dump. I rather suspect he anticipated the result-but he went thro' the operations seriatim, with the true French gravity. At last he turned to his companion, with a "Mistare Barbiere, be as good to lend me one shelling."

Mr. Barber thus appealed to, went through something of the same ceremony. Like a blue-bottle cleaning itself, he passed his hands over his breast-round his hips, and down the outside of his thighs, but the sense of feeling could detect nothing like a coin.

"You agreed for a shilling, and you shall have no more," said the man with empty pockets.

"No-no-no-you shall have no mor," said the moneyless French

man.

By this time the housemaid of Vespasian House, tired of standing with the door in her hand, had come down to the garden-gate, and, willing to make herself generally useful, laid her hand on one of the Foreigner's trunks.

"It shan't go till I'm paid my shilling," said the coachman, taking hold of the handle at the other end.

The good-natured housemaid instantly let go of the trunk, and seemed suddenly to be bent double by a violent cramp, or stitch, in her right side, while her hand groped busily under her gown. But it was in vain. There was nothing in that pocket but some curlpapers, and a brass thimble.

The stitch or cramp then seemed to attack her other side; again she stooped and fumbled, while Hope and Doubt struggled together on her rosy face. At last Hope triumphed,-from the extremest corner of the huge dimity pouch she fished up a solitary coin, and thrust it exultingly into the obdurate palm.

"It won't do," said the coachman, casting a wary eye on the metal, and holding out for the inspection of the trio a silver-washed coronation medal, which had been purchased of a Jew for twopence the year before.

The poor girl quietly set down the trunk which she had again taken up, and restored the deceitful medal to her pocket. In the meantime the arithmetical usher had arrived at the gate in his way out, but was stopped by the embargo on the luggage. "What's the matter now?" asked the man of figures.

"If you please, Sir," said the housemaid, dropping a low curtsey, "it's this impudent fellow of a coachman will stand here for his rights."

"He wants a shilling more than his fare," said Mr. Barber.

"He does want more than his fare shilling," reiterated the French

man.

"Coachman! what the devil are we waiting here for?" shouted a stentorian voice from the rear of the stage.

"Bless me, John, are we to stay here all day?" cried a shrill voice from the stage's interior.

"If you don't get up shortly I shall get down," bellowed a voice from the box.

At this crisis the English usher drew his fellow-tutor aside, and whispered something in his ear that made him go through the old manual exercise. He slapped his pantaloons-flapped his coat tails— and felt about his bosom-" I haven't got one," said he, and with a shake of the head and a hurried bow, he set off at the pace of a twopenny postman.

"I a'n't going to stand here all day," said the coachman, getting out of all reasonable patience.

"You're an infernal scoundrelly villain," said Mr. Barber, getting out of all classical English.

"You are a-what Mr. Barber says," said the Foreigner.

“Thank God and his goodness," ejaculated the housemaid, “here comes the Doctor;" and the portly figure of the pedagogue himself came striding pompously down the gravel-walk. He had two thick lips and a double chin, which all began wagging together.

Well, well; what's all this argumentative elocution? I command taciturnity!"

"I'm a shilling short," said the coachman.

"He says he has got one short shilling," said the Foreigner. "Poo-poo-poo," said the thick-lips and double-chin. "Pay the fellow his superfluous claim, and appeal to magisterial authority." "It's what we mean to do, Sir," said the English usher, “but' and he laid his lips mysteriously to the Doctor's ear.

"

"A pecuniary bagatelle," said the Doctor. "It's palpable extortion, but I'll disburse it,-and you have a legislatorial remedy for his avaricious demands." As the man of pomp said this, he thrust his fore-finger into an empty waistcoat-pocket-then into its fellowand then into every pocket he had-but without any other product than a bunch of keys, two ginger lozenges, and the French mark. "It's very peculiar," said the Doctor, "I had a prepossession of having currency to that amount. The coachman must call to-morrow for it at Vespasian House-or stay-I perceive my housekeeper. Mrs. Plummer! pray just step hither and liquidate this little commercial obligation."

Now, whether Mrs. Plummer had or had not a shilling, Mrs. Plummer only knows; for she did not condescend to make any search

for it, and if she had none, she was right not to take the trouble. However, she attempted to carry the point by a coup de main. Snatching up one of the boxes, she motioned the housemaid to do the like, exclaiming in a shrill treble key,-" Here's a pretty work indeed, about a paltry shilling! If it's worth having, it's worth calling again for, and I suppose Vespasian House is not going to run away!"

"But may be I am," said the inflexible coachman, seizing a trunk with each hand.

"John, I insist on being let out," screamed the lady in the coach. "I shall be too late for dinner," roared the Thunderer in the dickey. As for the passenger on the box, he had made off during the latter part of the altercation.

"What shall we do?" said the English Classical Usher.

"God and his goodness only knows!" said the housemaid.
"I am a stranger in this country," said the Frenchman.
"You must pay the money," said the coachman.

"And here it is, you brute," said Mrs. Plummer, who had made a trip to the house in the mean time; but whether she had coined it, or raised it by a subscription among the pupils, I know no more than

"Well, said, old Mole! canst work i' the dark so fast? a worthy pioneer - HAMLET.

WELL!- -Monsieur Brunel,

How prospers now thy mighty undertaking,
To join by a hollow way the Bankside friends
Of Rotherhithe, and Wapping,-

Never be stopping,

But poking, groping, in the dark keep making
An archway, underneath the Dabs and Gudgeons,
For Collier men and pitchy old Curmudgeons,
To cross the water in inverse proportion,
Walk under steam-boats under the keel's ridge,
To keep down all extortion,

And without sculls to diddle London Bridge!
In a fresh hunt, a new Great Bore to worry,
Thou didst to earth thy human terriers follow,
Hopeful at last from Middlesex to Surrey,

To give us the "View hollow."

In short it was thy aim, right north and south,
To put a pipe into old Thames's mouth;
Alas! half-way thou hadst proceeded, when
Old Thames, through roof, not water-proof,
Came, like a tide in the affairs of men;"
And with a mighty stormy kind of roar,
Reproachful of thy wrong,

66

Burst out in that old song

Of Incledon's, beginning "Cease, rude Bore"

Sad is it, worthy of one's tears,

Just when one seems the most successful, To find one's self o'er head and ears

In difficulties most distressful!

Other great speculations have been nursed,
Till want of proceeds laid them on a shelf;
But thy concern was at the worst,

When it began to liquidate itself!

But now Dame Fortune has her false face hidden,
And languishes thy Tunnel,-so to paint,
Under a slow incurable complaint,

Bed-ridden!

Why, when thus Thames-bed-bother'd-why repine!
Do try a spare bed at the Serpentine !

Yet let none think thee daz'd, or craz'd, or stupid;
And sunk beneath thy own and Thames's craft;
Let them not style thee some Mechanic Cupid
Pining and pouting o'er a broken shaft!
I'll tell thee with thy tunnel what to do;
Light up thy boxes, build a bin or two,
The wine does better than such water trades:
Stick up a sign-the sign of the Bore's Head;
I've drawn it ready for thee in black lead,
And make thy cellar subterrane,-Thy Shades!