Quiz. Truly is it.

Sir Ch. Even the conjugations of the verbs far excel the finest sonata of Pleyel or Handel-for instance, " tupto, tupso, tetupha"- -can anything be more musical?

Quiz. Nothing stoop low, stoop so, stoop too far."

All's

Sir Ch. Ha ha ha! stoop too far!" that's a good one. Quiz. [Aside.] Faith, I have stooped too far. over now, by Jupiter.

Sir Ch. Ha! ha! ha! a plaguy good pun, Mr. Blackletter.

Quiz. Tolerable. [Aside.] I am well out of that scrape, however.

Sir Ch. Pray. sir which of the classics is your favorite? Quiz. Why, sir, Mr. Frederick Classic, I think - he is so great a scholar.

Sir Ch. Po, po, you don't understand me. which of the Latin classics do you admire most?

I mean,

Quiz. Haug it! what shall I say now. [Aside.] The Latin classics? Oh, really, sir, I admire them all so much, it is difficult to say.

Sir Ch. Virgil is my favorite How very expressive is his description of the unconquerable passion of Queen Dido, where he says, "haret lateri lethalis arundo." Is not that very expressive?

Quiz. Very expressive, indeed, sir. [Aside.] I wish we were forty miles asunder. I shall never be able to hold out much longer, at this rate.

Sir Ch. And Ovid is not without his charms.

Quiz. He is not, indeed, sir.

Sir Ch. And what a dear, enchanting fellow, Horace is! Quiz. Wonderfully so!

Sir Ch. Pray, what do you think of Zenophon?

Quiz. Who the plague is he, I wonder. Aside.] Xenophon! oh, I think he unquestionably wrote good Latin, sir. Sir Ch. Good Latin, man!--he wrote Greek-good Greek, you meant.

Quiz. True, sir, I did. Latin, indeed! [In great confusion.] I meant Greek -did Í say Latin? I really meant Greek. [Aside.] In fact, I don't know what I mean myself.

Sir Ch. Oh! Mr. Blackletter, I have been trying a long time to remember the name of one of Achilles's horses but can't for my life think of it—you doubtless can tell me.

U

Quiz. O yes, his name was-but which of them do you mean! What was he called?

Sir Ch What was he called? Why, that's the very thing I wanted to know. The one I allude to was born of the Harpy Celano. I can't for the blood of me, tell it.

Quiz. [Aside.] Faith! if I can either. [To him] Born of the Harpy-oh! his name was-[striking his forehead.] Gracious! I forget it now. His name was,-was,-was,— Pshaw, 'tis as familiar to me as my A, B, C.

Sir Ch. Oh! I remember -'twas Xanthus, Xanthus— I remember now-'twas Xanthus--plague o' the namethat's it.

Quiz. Egad! so 'tis. "Thankus, Thankus"--that's it --strange I could not remember it. [Aside.] "Twould have been stranger, if I had.

Sir Ch. You seem at times a little absent, Mr. Blackletter.

Quiz. Absent! I wish I was absent altogether. [Aside.] Sir Ch. We shall not disagree about learning sir. I discover you are a man, not only of profound learning, but

correct taste.

Quiz. [Aside] I am glad you have found that out, for I never should. I came here to quiz the old fellow, and he'll quiz me, I fear. [To him.] O, by-the-by, I have been so confused-I mean, so confounded; pshaw! so much engrossed with the contemplation of the Latin classics, I had almost forgot to give you a letter from your son

Sir Ch. Bless me, sir! why did you delay that pleasure so long?

Quiz. I beg pardon, sir, here 'tis. [Gives a letter.] Sir Ch. [Puts on his spectacles and reads.] "To Miss Clara."

Quiz. No, no, no-that's not it-here 'tis. [Takes the letter, and gives him another.]

Sir Ch. What, are you the bearer of love epistles, too, Mr Blackletter?

Quiz. [Aside.] What a horrid blunder. [To him.] Oh, no, sir, that letter is from a female cousin at a boardingschool, to Miss Clara Upright,-no, Downright. That's the

name.

Sir Ch. Truly, she writes a good masculine fist. Well, let me see what my boy has to say. [Reads]

"Dear Father,--There is a famous Greek manuscript just

come to light. I must have it. The price is about a thousand dollars. Send me the money by the bearer."

Short and sweet. There's a letter for you, in the true Lacedæmonian style-laconic. Well the boy shall have it. were it ten times as much. I should like to see this Greek manuscript. Pray. sir, did you ever see it?

Quiz. I can't say I ever did, sir. [Aside.] This is the only truth I have been able to edge in, yet.

Sir Ch. I'll just send to my bankers for the money. In the mean time, we will adjourn to my library. I have been much puzzled with an obscure passage in Livy—we must lay our heads together for a solution. But I am sorry you are addicted to such absence of mind, at times.

Quiz. 'Tis a misfortune, sir; but I am addicted to a greater than that at times.

Sir Ch. Ah! what's that?

Quiz. I am sometimes addicted to an absence of body. Sir Ch. As how?

Quiz. Why thus, sir. [Takes up his hat and stick, and walks off]

Sir Ch. Ha, ha, ha,-that's an absence of body, sure enough an absence of body with a vengeance! A very merry fellow this. He will be back for the money, I suppose, presently. He is, at all events, a very modest man, not fond of expressing his opinion-but that's a mark of merit.

XXIX.-REWARD OF BENEVOLENCE.-Colman.

JOB THORNBERRY-JOHN BUR-PEREGRINE.

Bur. Don't take on so- -don't you now! Pray listen

to reason.

Job.

I won't.

Bur. Pray do.

Job. I won't. Reason bid me love my child and help my friend what's the consequence? My friend has run one way, and broke up my trade: my daughter has run another, and broke my- no, she shall never have it to say. she broke my heart. If I hang myself for grief, she sha'n't know she made me.

Job. And reason told me to take you into my shop when the fat churchwardens starved you at the work house,- hang their want of feeling for it!-and you were thumped about, a poor unoffending, ragged boy, as you were I wonder you haven't run away from me, too.

Bur. That's the first real unkind word you ever said to me. I've sprinkled your shop two-and-twenty years, and never missed a morning.

Job. The bailiffs are below, clearing the goods:-you won't have the trouble any longer.

Bur. Trouble! look ye, old Job Thornberry-

Job.

Well! what, are you going to be saucy to me, now I'm ruined?

Bur. Don't say one cutting thing after another. You have been as noted all around our town, for being a kind man as a blunt one.

Job. Blunt or sharp, I've been honest. Let them look at my ledger-they'll find it right. I began upon a little; I made that little great by industry; I never cringed at a customer, to get him into my books, that I might hamper him with an overcharged bill for long credit; I earned my fair profits; I paid my fair way; I break by the treachery of a friend, and my first dividend will be seventeen shillings in the pound. I wish every tradesman in England may clap his hand on his heart, and say as much when he asks his creditor to sign his certificate.

Bur. 'Twas I kept your ledger all the time.
Job. I know you did.

Bur.

From the time you took me out of the workhouse Job. Pshaw! rot the workhouse!

Bur.

You never mentioned it to me yourself till to-day Job. I said it in a hurry.

Bur. And I've remembered it at leisure. I don't want to brag, but I hope I've been found faithful. It's rather hard to tell poor John Bur, the workhouse boy, after clothing, feeding, and making him your man of trust for two-and twenty years, that you wonder he don't run away from you now you're in trouble.

Job. [Affected John-[Stretching out his hand.]—I beg your pardon

Bur. [Taking his hand.] Don't say a word more

about it.

Job. I

Bur. Pray, now, master, don't say any more! Come, be a man get on your things, and face the bailiffs that are rummaging the goods.

Job. I can't, John, I can't. My heart's heavier than all the brass and iron in my shop.

Bur. Nay, consider what confusion!-pluck up a courage; do now!

Job. Well, I'll try.

Bur. Ay, that's right: here's your clothes. They'll play the mischief with all the pots and pans if you aren't by; why. I warrant you'll do! bless you, what should ail you?

Job. Ail me first have a daughter yourself, John Bur, then let her run away from you and you'll know what ails me.

Bur. Come, here's your coat and waistcoat

This is the waistcoat young mistress worked, with her own hands, for your birthday, five years ago. Come, get into it as quick as

you can.

Job. [Throwing it on the floor violently.] I'd as lieve get into my coffin. She'll have me there soon. Pshaw! rot it! I'm going to snivel. Bur, go and get me another. Bur. Are you sure you won't put it on?

Job. No, I won't. No. I tell you. [Exit Bur.] How proud I was of that waistcoat. five years ago! I little thought what would happen now, when I sat in it. at the top of my table with all my neighbors, to celebrate the day: there was Collop on one side of me, and his wife on the other; and my daughter Mary sat at the further end, smiling so sweetly. like an artful good-for-nothing. I shouldn't like to throw away a waistcoat neither. I may as well put Yes, it would be poor spite not to put it on, [putting his arms into it.] She's breaking my heart; but I'll wear it. I'll wear it; [buttoning it as he speaks, and crying involuntarily; it's iny child's-she's undutiful, ungrateful, barbarous but she's my child, and she'll never work me

it on.

another.

Bur.

[Re-enter Bur.]

Here's another waistcoat; but it has laid by so long I think it's damp.

Job I was thinking so myself, Bur, and so

Bur. Eh--what you've got on the old one! Well, now, I declare, I'm glad of that. Here's your coat. [Putting it on him.] Slobs! this waistcoat feels a little damp about the top of the bosom.