th’ haulf, hev’ ‘em swearing i’ my lugs fro’h morn to neeght, nor hearken ye hahsiver!’ said the tenant of the kitchen, in answer to an unheard speech of Nelly’s. ‘It’s a blazing shame, that I cannot oppen t’ blessed Book, but yah set up them glories to sattan, and all t’ flaysome wickednesses that iver were born into th’ warld! Oh! ye’re a raight nowt; and shoo’s another; and that poor lad ‘ll be lost atween ye. Poor lad!’ he added, with a groan; ‘he’s witched: I’m sartin on’t. Oh, Lord, judge ‘em, for there’s norther law nor justice among wer rullers!’

‘No! or we should be sitting in flaming fagots, I suppose,’ retorted the singer. ‘But wisht, old man, and read your