The next day, Paul was surprised by a visit from Mrs. Lobkins, who had heard of his situation and its causes from the friendly Dummie, and who had managed to obtain from Justice Burnflat an order of admission. They met, Pyramides and Thisbe-like, with a Wall, or rather an iron gate, between them; and Mrs. Lobkins, after an ejaculation of despair at the obstacle, burst weepingly into the pathetic reproach, —

"Paul, thou hast brought thy pigs to a fine market !"

" 'Tis a market proper for pigs, dear dame," said Paul, who, though with a tear in his eye, did not refuse a joke as bitter as it was inelegant: "for, of all others, it is the spot where a man learns to take care of his bacon."

" Hold your tongue ! " cried the dame, angrily. " What business has you to gabble on so while you are in limbo ?"

" Ah, dear dame," said Paul, " we can't help these rubs and stumbles on our road to preferment ! "

" Road to the scragging-post ! " cried the dame. " I tell you, child, you'll live to be hanged in spite of all my care and attention. " Although I designated you as a scholar, and always hoped that you would grow up to be an honour to your king and country," interrupted Paul. " We always say honour to king and country, which means getting rich and paying taxes. ' The more taxes a man pays, the greater honour he is to both,' as Augustus says. Well, dear dame, all in good time."

What! you are merry, is that so? Why don't you weep? Your heart is as hard as a brickbat. It looks quite unnatural and hyenas-like to be so devil-may-careish ! " So saying, the good dame's tears gushed forth with the bitterness of a despairing Porcelain. 