do they never press you for some kind of a performance?

Merryman. No, I have told them to look to you for that.

Squire. At that rate, my debts will never be discharged, I find.

Merryman. Not till your father's steward, the lean Billy Vortex, shall have been kicked down the same stairs by which he got up. But he has such a cursed knack of keeping his saddle, that nothing short of a convulsion will throw him out. He persuades the tenants that their interest is nearest to his heart, and that he retains his stewardship purely for their welfare. I would build a temple to fortune.

Squire. As you have already built one to pleasure at the expense of your creditors.

Merryman. Those things have never given me the least uneasiness, Squire, since I have had the advantage of your acquaintance and example; but I would set on foot a subscription for a temple to Fortune, if the earth would open in the Common Hall, as we are told it once did in the Forum at Rome, and Billy Vortex would

ingulph himself in it through his vanity of being thought the most valuable piece of live lumber in the manor. I should not envy him his entrance into the Temple of Fame, if we could march snugly into that of Fortune.

Squire. It would be a new thing to you.

Dickey. You might then contradict Solomon's assertion, that there was nothing new under the Sun.

Merryman. Now you talk of something new, do show me the face of a guinea.

Squire. I'm quite aground, Dickey :— How stands it with you, Cutlas?

Cutlas. At low water, by Jove; I lost the last ten guineas yesterday, by backing a butcher's dog against a fellow to eat tripe. The twolegged brute beat the four-legged one by three quarters of a pound.

Squire. I should have enjoyed the sport.

Cutlas. As I did, although I lost my money; but I had not time to give you that satisfaction, as it was an unexpected treat to myself.

Merryman. It would have afforded us a treat too, if you had won the bet. I wish you had

2

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taken the place of the butcher's dog, ― you would have won.

Cutlas. Perhaps I might, Dickey, if I had followed your plan, when you drank swill against a hog, and won the match by dashing your portion with a couple of bottles of brandy.

Merryman. Aye, they could not fool me.

Squire. But what is to be done? A certain lady expects me to-night, and she will not be in a good humour if I come empty-handed.

Cutlas. Poh! if you can put nothing into her hand, you can pay her by word of mouth, as Dickey pays his landlord at the Staffordshire

Arms.

Merryman. It will never do, he has been put to that shift too often.

Cutlas. Then do you go and promise, Dickey, and tell her that, by the powers of manhood! I'll perform if the Squire fails.

Squire. Well, let us dine together, and then consult about the ways and means over a bottle.

Merryman. We can mortgage the succession a little deeper yet. I will send for Mr. Moses

Aaron, of Crutched Friars, an honest Jew, who has some faith in Christianity, since he has trusted me. We will melt him by a sad account of your Father's declining health into a post-obit, for a few thousands.

Enter Brush.

Squire. Ah! Charley, I am glad you are come, we were just going to dine, and then to consult on the ways and means. We shall want your assistance.

Brush. You're always in want, and, no won der, since you want that most essential articlebrains.

Squire. Why, Charley, you've got upon stilts; you're unusually lofty to-day, and, for a wonder, the razor has divorced the bristles from your chin before they were a week's acquaintance. Did you meet with a windfall last night?

Brush. Aye, my boys, that I did, and what is more extraordinary, it was a foul wind too ; but it is an ill wind, you know, that blows nobody good. Such ingenuity and contrivance!

!

By Jove! the Sporting Calendar never did, and never will produce an instance of such a dead heat. Vespasian's mode of raising money by a tax on double-distilled waters was nothing to mine.

Merryman. But was it equally productive ? Brush. Aye, Dickey; brought in a cool thousand in about ten minutes.

-

Squire. Let's have the story. I'm impatient to bear it.

Brush. Well then, I was at

's last night, and met with one continued run of ill-luck; in short, I was brought to my last guinea. In such a situation, all of you would have had no other resource, but to console yourselves with your Perdita's and your bottles; but I had brains - brains, my boys! I left the room, and went into the adjoining public-house where the Irish chairmen stand in waiting. I gave one of them a crown to disincumber himself of a certain incumbrance in my inexpressibles.

Squire.-(Stopping his nose.) Faugh! Stand farther off!-I shall fancy you don't smell sweet for a twelvemonth to come..