etwixt heat
without and fire within, you would have been burnt to a cinder, or
melted down to nothing at all--in the fashion of a jellyfish.

Drink, and make room for that other fellow, who seeks my aid to quench
the fiery fever of last night's potations, which he drained from no cup
of mine. Welcome, most rubicund sir! You and I have been strangers
hitherto; nor, to confess the truth, will my nose be anxious for a
closer intimacy till the fumes of your breath be a little less potent.

Mercy on you, man! The water absolutely hisses down your red-hot gullet,
and is converted quite into steam in the miniature Tophet, which you
mistake for a stomach. Fill again, and tell me, on the word of an honest
toper, did you ever, in cellar, tavern, or any other kind of dramshop,
spend the price of your children's food for a swig half so delicious?
Now, for the first time these ten years, you know the flavor of cold
water. Good-by; and whenever you are thirsty, recollect that I keep a
constant supply at the old stand.

Who next? Oh, my little friend, you are just let loose from school, and
come hither to scrub your blooming face, and drown the memory of certain
taps of the ferule, and other schoolboy troubles, in a draft from the
Town Pump. Take it, pure as the current of your young life; take it, and
may your heart and tongue never be scorched with a fiercer thirst than
now.

[Illustration: The Town Pump.]

There, my dear child, put down the cup, and yield your place to this
elderly gentleman, who treads so tenderly over the paving stones that I
suspect he is afraid of breaking them. What! he limps by without so much
as thanking me, as if my hospitable offers were meant only for people
who have no wine cellars.

Well, well, sir, no harm done, I hope! Go, draw the cork, tip the
decanter; but when your great toe shall set you a-roaring, it will be no
affair of mine. If gentlemen love the pleasant titillation of the gout,
it is all one to the Town Pump. This thirsty dog, with his red tongue
lolling out, does not scorn my hospitality, but stands on his hind legs
and laps eagerly out of the trough. See how lightly he capers away
again! Jowler, did your worship ever have the gout?

Your pardon, good people! I must interrupt my stream of eloquence, and
spout forth a stream of water, to replenish the trough for this teamster
and his two yoke of oxen, who have come all the way from Staunton, or
somewhere along that way. No part of my