quiet since we have been in
misfortune: but my daughter looked as happy as a queen; and Tug, when
he heard of the ship, gave a jump that nearly knocked down poor Orlando.
"Ah, I suppose you'll forget me now?" says he with a sigh; and seemed
the only unhappy person in company.

"Why, you conceive, Mr. Crump," says my wife, with a great deal of
dignity, "that, connected as we are, a young man born in a work--"

"Woman!" cried I (for once in my life determined to have my own way),
"hold your foolish tongue. Your absurd pride has been the ruin of us
hitherto; and, from this day, I'll have no more of it. Hark ye, Orlando,
if you will take Jemimarann, you may have her; and if you'll take five
hundred pounds for a half-share of the shop, they're yours; and THAT'S
for you, Mrs. Cox."

And here we are, back again. And I write this from the old back shop,
where we are all waiting to see the new year in. Orlando sits yonder,
plaiting a wig for my Lord Chief Justice, as happy as may be; and
Jemimarann and her mother have been as busy as you can imagine all
day long, and are just now giving the finishing touches to the
bridal-dresses: for the wedding is to take place the day after
to-morrow. I've cut seventeen heads off (as I say) this very day; and as
for Jemmy, I no more mind her than I do the Emperor of China and all
his Tambarins. Last night we had a merry meeting of our friends and
neighbors, to celebrate our reappearance among them; and very merry we
all were. We had a capital fiddler, and we kept it up till a pretty tidy
hour this morning. We begun with quadrills, but I never could do 'em
well; and after that, to please Mr. Crump and his intended, we tried a
gallopard, which I found anything but easy: for since I am come back to
a life of peace and comfort, it's astonishing how stout I'm getting. So
we turned at once to what Jemmy and me excels in--a country dance; which
is rather surprising, as we was both brought up to a town life. As for
young Tug, he showed off in a sailor's hornpipe: which Mrs. Cox says is
very proper for him to learn, now he is intended for the sea. But stop!
here comes in the punchbowls; and if we are not happy, who is? I say I
am like the Swish people, for I can't flourish out of my native HAIR.

End of Project Gutenberg's Burlesques, by William Makepeace Thackeray

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