the liquor so much to his taste, that he made
it pay double toll on its passage.

"Your son is a lad of spirit, Mr. Wood," observed Jackson, in a
slightly-sarcastic tone.

"He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter.

"How, Sir?"

"Except by adoption. Thames Darrell is--"

"My husband nicknames him Thames," interrupted Mrs. Wood, "because he
found him in the river!--ha! ha!"

"Ha! ha!" echoed Smith, taking another bumper of brandy; "he'll set the
Thames on fire one of these days, I'll warrant him!"

"That's more than you'll ever do, you drunken fool!" growled Jackson, in
an under tone: "be cautious, or you'll spoil all!"

"Suppose we send for a bowl of punch," said Kneebone.

"With all my heart!" replied Wood. And, turning to his daughter, he gave
the necessary directions in a low tone.

Winifred, accordingly, left the room, and a servant being despatched to
the nearest tavern, soon afterwards returned with a crown bowl of the
ambrosian fluid. The tables were then cleared. Bottles and glasses
usurped the place of dishes and plates. Pipes were lighted; and Mr.
Kneebone began to dispense the fragrant fluid; begging Mrs. Wood, in a
whisper, as he filled a rummer to the brim, not to forget the health of
the Chevalier de Saint George--a proposition to which the lady
immediately responded by drinking the toast aloud.

"The Chevalier shall hear of this," whispered the woollen-draper.

"You don't say so!" replied Mrs. Wood, delighted at the idea.

Mr. Kneebone assured her that he _did_ say so; and, as a further proof
of his sincerity, squeezed her hand very warmly under the table.

Mr. Smith, now, being more than half-seas over, became very uproarious,
and, claiming the attention of the table, volunteered the following

DRINKING SONG.

I.

Jolly nose! the bright rubies that garnish thy tip
Are dug from the mines of canary;
And to keep up their lustre I moisten my lip
With hogsheads of claret and sherry.

II.

Jolly nose! he who sees thee across a broad glass
Beholds thee in all thy perfection;
And to the pale snout of a temperate ass
Entertains the profoundest objection.

III.

For a big-bellied glass is the palette I use,
And the choicest of wine is my colour;
And I find that my nose takes the mellowest hues
The fuller I fill it--the fuller!

IV.

Jolly nose! there are fools who say drink hurts the sight;