orth Bess. "Is it gold?"

"Pure gold," replied Kneebone. "It was given me by poor dear Mrs. Wood,
whose loss I shall ever deplore."

"Pray, let me have a pinch!" said Edgeworth Bess, with a captivating
glance. "I am so excessively fond of snuff."

The woollen-draper replied by gallantly handing her the box, which was
instantly snatched from her by Blueskin, who, after helping himself to
as much of its contents as he could conveniently squeeze between his
thumb and finger, put it very coolly in his pocket.

The action did not pass unnoticed by Sheppard.

"Restore it," he cried, in an authoritative voice.

"O'ons! Captain," cried Blueskin, as he grumblingly obeyed the command;
"if you've left off business yourself, you needn't interfere with other
people."

"I should like a little of that plum-tart," said Mrs. Maggot; "but I
don't see a spoon."

"I'll ring for one," replied Kneebone, rising accordingly; "but I fear
my servants are gone to bed."

Blueskin, meanwhile, having drained and replenished his glass, commenced
chaunting a snatch of a ballad:--

Once on a time, as I've heard tell.
In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell;
A carpenter he was by trade,
And money, I believe, he made.
_With his foodle doo_!

This carpenter he had a wife,
The plague and torment of his life,
Who, though she did her husband scold,
Loved well a woollen-draper bold.
_With her foodle doo_!

"I've a toast to propose," cried Sheppard, filling a bumper. "You won't
refuse it, Mr. Kneebone?"

"He'd better not," muttered Blueskin.

"What is it?" demanded the woollen-draper, as he returned to the table,
and took up a glass.

"The speedy union of Thames Darrell with Winifred Wood," replied Jack.

Kneebone's cheeks glowed with rage, and he set down the wine untasted,
while Blueskin resumed his song.

Now Owen Wood had one fair child,
Unlike her mother, meek and mild;
Her love the draper strove to gain,
But she repaid him with disdain.
_With his foodle doo_!

"Peace!" cried Jack.

But Blueskin was not to be silenced. He continued his ditty, in spite of
the angry glances of his leader.

In vain he fondly urged his suit,
And, all in vain, the question put;
She answered,--"Mr. William Kneebone,
Of me, Sir, you shall never be bone."
_With your foodle doo_!

"Thames Darrell has my heart alone,
A noble youth, e'en _you_ must o