" He shakes his head, and at length the cloth is
drawn, and a confounded old steward of mine, who is now installed as
butler, brings in the crystal decanters, sparkling to the wax lights
poor as I am, I consider mutton fat still damnable--and every thing as
it should be, down to a finger--glass. "Now, Mary, where are the
children?" I am resolute. "Jack, I can't drink--out of sorts, my boy
so mind yourself, you and Peter.--Now, Conshy," says I, "where are you
now, my boy?" But just at this instant, jack strikes out, with "Cringle,
order me a tumbler--something hot--I don't care what it is."--"Ditto,"
quoth Peter; and down crumbles all my fine fabric of resolutions, only
to be rebuilt tomorrow, before breakfast again, or at any odd moment,
when one's flesh is somewhat fishified. Another instance. "I say, Tom,"
says Conshy, "do give over looking at that smart girl tripping it along
t'other side of the street."--"Presently, my dear little man," says I.
"Tight little woman that, Conshy; handsome bows; good bearings forward;
tumbles home sweetly about the waist, and tumbles out well above the
hips; what a beautiful run! and spars clean and tight; back--stays well
set up."--"Now, Tom, you vagabond, give over. Have you not a wife of
your own?"--"To be sure I have, Conshy, my darling; but toujours per"
"Have done, now, you are going too far," says Conshy.--"Oh, you be--".
"Thomas," cries a still stern voice, from the very inmost recesses of
my heart.
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