oach,--

"O Paul, thou hast brought thy pigs to a fine market!"

"'T is a market proper for pigs, dear dame," said Paul, who, though with
a tear in his eye, did not refuse a joke as bitter as it was inelegant;
"for, of all others, it is the spot where a man learns to take care of
his bacon."

"Hold your tongue!" cried the dame, angrily. "What business has you to
gabble on so while you are in limbo?"

"Ah, dear dame," said Paul, "we can't help these rubs and stumbles on
our road to preferment!"

"Road to the scragging-post!" cried the dame. "I tells you, child,
you'll live to be hanged in spite of all my care and 'tention to you,
though I hedicated you as a scholard, and always hoped as how you would
grow up to be an honour to your--"

"King and country," interrupted Paul. "We always say, honour to king and
country, which means getting rich and paying taxes. 'The more taxes a
man pays, the greater honour he is to both,' as Augustus says. Well,
dear dame, all in good time."

"What! you is merry, is you? Why does not you weep? Your heart is as
hard as a brickbat. It looks quite unnatural and hyena-like to be so
devil-me-careish!" So saying, the good dame's tears gushed forth with
the bitterness of a despairing Parisina.

"Nay, nay," said Paul, who, though he suffered far more intensely, bore
the suffering far more easily than his patroness, "we cannot mend the
matter by crying. Suppose you see what can be done for me. I dare say
you may manage to soften the justice's sentence by a little 'oil of
palms;' and if you can get me out before I am quite corrupted,--a day or
two longer in this infernal place will do the business,--I promise you
that I will not only live honestly myself, but with people who live in
the same manner."

"Buss me, Paul," said the tender Mrs. Lobkins, "buss me--Oh! but I
forgits the gate. I'll see what can be done. And here, my lad, here's
summat for you in the mean while,--a drop o' the cretur, to preach
comfort to your poor stomach. Hush! smuggle it through, or they'll see
you."

Here the dame endeavoured to push a stone bottle through the bars of the
gate; but, alas! though the neck passed through, the body refused, and
the dame was forced to retract the "cretur." Upon this, the kind-hearted
woman renewed her sobbings; and so absorbed was she in her grief that
seemingly quite forgetting for what purpose she had brought the bottle,
she applied it to her own mouth, and consoled herself wit