“I never heered Mr. Muff sing, Mr. Timwig,” chimed the sisters simultaneously.
“Indeed! Then, ladies, it will be the greater novelty. Come, my good sir; but first a glass of wine with you.”
“Oh, Mr. Timwiddy, you will make Mr. Muff quite top-heavy! It must only be a half a glass,” said Mrs. Muff, authoritatively.
“The top half, if you please, madam,” said the middle-aged gentleman; and he poured out the “regal purple stream” till it kissed, without flowing over, the brim. Mr. Muff brought the bumper to a level with his lips, and, as if half ashamed of what he was doing, put both halves out of sight!
“Is the man mad?” cried the amazed Mrs. Muff.
“Has he lost his senses?” ejaculated the bewildered Mrs. Flumgarten.
“He has found them, rather,” whispered the satirical-nosed gentleman.
The bland looks and persuasive tones of Uncle Timothy, to say nothing of the last bumper, had wrought wonders on the master-mason. He looked Silenus-like and rosy, and glanced his little peering eyes across the table--Mrs. Muff having a voice too in the affair--for an assenting nod from the fierce black velvet turban of his better and bigger half. But Mrs. Muff made no sign, and he paused irresolute; when another kind word from the middle-aged gentleman encouraged him, at all hazards, to begin with,
And rented a knocker near Bloomsbury Square.
“You shan't sing another line, that you shan't, Brutus!” vociferated Mrs. Muff. But the Cockney Roman, undaunted and vocal, went on singing,
Says Doctor Peter Pott, “As I know vhat's vhat,
My anti-nervous patent pill on Tib my rib I'll try;
If Mrs. P. vill svallow, if dissolution follow,
And she should kick the bucket, I'm sure I shan't
“Where could he have learned such a rubbishing song? A man, too, after pa's own heart!” sighed Mrs. Muff.
And vel the doctor knew that a leer par les deux yeux
Mrs. Pott vithstand could not, vhen shot from Peter's
So presently plump at her he opes his organic battery,
And said the pill it vouldnt kill, no, not a little fly!
“Have you no compassion for my poor nerves?” remonstrated Mrs. Muff, pathetically.
“None vhatsumdever,” replied the stoical Brutus. “Vhat compassion have you ever had for mine?”
Of gout and phthisic she'll newer complain,