Mrs Matron Dorothy, can live very well without their mothers. Don't ye see how the game goes? Ned fills the workhouse with parish poor, Dorothy puts them on slack-belt allowance, Bill stands in the back-ground with his death-board ready

to

Wiggins.-Mabel, Mabel, that tongue o' thine wags most unconscionably. Speak within bounds, for Heaven's sake, and call not the devil worse than he really is.

Mabel.-Dan Wiggins, that tongue o' thine wags most unreasonably-I merely meant to say, that the parish poor seldom sit down to tight-belt allowance, notwithstanding the heavy rates levied every quarter, and then pass sentence on the free-fingered manner in which Dame Dorothy fills Ned's basket and Bill's store -that's all. As for mortality, there isn't a workhouse within fifty miles of ours that keeps the sexton's spade freer of rust. Dingle. Bravely spoken, Mother Wiggins. Thy words are all full grown, and fairly feathered-not a gosling amongst them. But Clench and Company have more bones to pick than come from the parish workhouse. Annual requests, Christmas benefactions, casual gifts, and other benevolences, all through Neddy's hands in due form, because it's the fashion now-a-days for ladies and gentlemen to be charitable by proxy.

Mabel.-There's the evil, Jem. Would charitably-inclined folk only take the trouble o' looking on distress with their own eyes, and relieving it with their own bands, in place o' deputising the like o' Ned Clench and Bill Quirk

Wiggins.-Softly, Mabel-not so fast. Only consider how very industriously the two worthies propagate stories of beggar men and beggar women, making what is called a good thing of it, in less time than trades-folk usually reckon upon; disposing of the walks and avocations by private contract, like newsmen and milkmongers, and then retiring from business altogether-stories that induce many goodhearted people to leave their mites at Ned's disposal, because of his local knowledge and apparent sanctity.

Dingle.-Very justly observed all feasible enough; and now when I think on't, didn't young Ned, at the last vestry but one, deliver a lecture on sham cripples, blind fiddlers, mock dumbies, and imposition in general, that made every body stare. Such plausible tales and well-coloured orations naturally incline our wealthy parishioners, and others unacquainted with low life, to distrust their own judgments, and rely on the more experienced discrimination of Clench and Company.

Wiggins. Exactly so, and really it is grievous to see such a couple of

Dingle (looking cunningly out at the shop-door).-Hush, hush; here they come full drive, rag, tag, and bobtail. Dumpling and green pease, did ye say?

Mabel (following Jem's example.)— Generation o' vipers! What a pair o' white-livered Pharisees! Yes, lad, we've a rare boiling.

(Enter Ned Clench and Bill Quirk.) Clench.-Good morrow, Mr Wiggins. Wiggins. Your servant, Mr Clench. Quirk (casting his eyes about Dan's shop). Tidy little box, well stocked, and full of conveniences. 'Pon my honour; Wiggins, you've got a snug birth of it.

Mabel.-Yes, the place is pretty tolerable, considering; but we've had a sore struggle, and many difficulties to over

come.

Clench.-Honest endeavours are blest, Mrs Wiggins, and he that sets a stout heart to the steep hill seldom fails, through grace, of gaining the summit in a reasonable space of time. It rejoices me to see the industrious man prosper.

Wiggins. Why, Mr Clench, we've reason to be thankful that all our endeavours have hitherto been rewarded, and every reasonable expectation fully realized. Jem and I keep driving away at something or other, and seldom see the heels o' a job out at the door before another pops in. What with Squire Gewgaw's whims, parish work, and odds and ends picked up here and there, we make a bold shift to keep the wolf at bay.

Clench. And heartily glad am I to hear of it. The sober, attentive, cleanhanded tradesman, that demeans himself in a business-like manner, and keeps his eye on the Scripture-saying, "Do unto all men as you'd have all men do unto you," will find friends, and step into the way of well-doing sooner or later. My custom, Mr Wiggins, such as it is, may be relied on, and what little influence I possess in the way of recommendation is heartily at your service.

Wiggins. For which, Mr Clench, I beg leave to return my very best acknowledgments. The chair and wheel-barrow may be expected home. When shall we say, Jem?

Dingle. They'll be ready for a march, I should think, by this time to-morrow.

Clench. Any time to-morrow will do extremely well; but lay them aside for the present. We've a bit of a job that must be got on with in preference. to, Mr Wiggins, and make a coffin five feet ten and a quarter.

Quirk.-Eleven and a-quarter.

Fall

Clench (consulting his memorandumbook).-Right, William, it is so. Five feet eleven and a-quarter long, two feet one and a-half wide, by twenty-seven inches deep in the clear.

Dingle. What a punchy little box! Clench. Yes, James. He whose mortal remains are about to be deposited therein was a man of substance, in so far as flesh is concerned.

Quirk. Don't be nice with it, Wiggins; rough boards, tidied a little with the Jack-plane, and tacked together with a few nails,

Wiggins.-Shell fashion?

Quirk. Not exactly so, but pretty nearly. Charity coffins, Dan, have no claim whatever to ostentatious finery. I shan't get that for it, (snapping his thumb).

Wiggins. What! wont the parish? Clench. O dear no; the parish has nothing to do with it. My son William defrays the poor man's funeral charges out of respect to his memory. Old Giles Grabble, you know, the outlandish pack

room.

Quirk. In father's two-pair back bedLord help him, Dan, he died as poor as a church mouse. I had no conception that the old fellow was in indigent circumstances, until he made shift to explain himself, poor man. Ruinous credit, desperate debts, flash bills, and blind bargains. O Lord, O Lord! what will this world come to !

Mabel.-Bless me, it is not long since Old Gaffer was in our house, hearty and well. Did he die suddenly?

Clench. Why, no. The poor old creature had been ailing for some time, and certainly was in a fair way to consecrated ground; but what carried him off so very hurriedly, in my opinion, was the baneful habit of chewing opium; that infatuating stimulant, whose gilded poison so many foolish people fly to for relief, when worldly cares weigh down the animal spirits.

Dingle.-Aye, Mr Clench! When did chewing opium come in vogue? Has poor old Tom lost his popularity?

Clench. Not he indeed, James. The

gin bottle is still resorted to by a certain class of folk; but our West-end fashionables prefer the drug on account of its delectably-infatuating qualities.

Quirk. The effects of strong cordial gin, and the effects of opium, it would seem, are precisely alike. The former calcines the constitution, as it were, by degrees, when exhilarating the animal spirits. The latter acts upon the intellectual system in a very surprising manner, and produces the most pleasing, dreamy stupor that can possibly be imagined, gradually dissipating the unfortunate chewer's constitutional stamina until he becomes a mere mass of living insensibility, and finally slips away like a knotless thread. Poor old Giles went off like a lamb.

Wiggins.-Dreaming to death! Well, that's one way of committing suicide. Don't ye think the Coroner ought to wait upon him?

Mabel. And take the opinion of twelve honest men?

Quirk.-Not at all. The old fellow has not left the value of that behind him (tossing up a shaving with the end of his stick) to pay the Coroner's fee. We've had Sally Glum the searcher to overhaul him. Six pennyworth of Sal's opinion is all I can afford. No, no, we'll have nothing to do with Coroners. Get the coffin ready, Wiggins, and let me have it by half-past six this evening at farthest.

Clench. Because, though he only died a few hours ago, the body is much discoloured, and therefore requires to be speedily disposed of. Don't let it be later than half-past six, Mr Wiggins. Dingle. I'll be answerable for its appearance, a bit of a shell,-we'll knock it up in no time.

Wiggins.-Yes, yes, we'll soon tack a few boards together.

Clench.-Well, that point's settled. William, (lugging out his watch and turning to Bill Quirk). You and I must be on the move. It's well nigh two o'clock, and we've to call at the sexton's.

Quirk. Is there nothing else wanting? Coffin furniture we've got-shroud, pall, bier. Yes, all's right; we may toddle. Good bye, Wiggins. Your servant, Ma'am, (nodding to Mabel, who returns the compliment).

Clench.-Adieu for the present. Wiggins. Your most obedient, Gentlemen. [Exit Clench and Quirk. Dingle. Well, this is a rummish go. Mabel. So say I, Jem.

Wiggins. Chewing opium, to bamboozle old daddy Care!

Was ever the

like heard tell of in a Christian land! What say ye, gentlefolk?

Mabel. More likely to deaden the smartings o' a prickly conscience.

Dingle. That's nearer the mark, mistress. A more saintly-looking advocate for fair play than Giles Grabble never quoted Scripture, and a ranker cheat never ran on two legs. Gaffer's conscience and mine cou'd never agree, by à long, long way; though his yard rod was within an inch and quarter o' calling my three foot rule dear brother.

Wiggins. And as for dying pennyless, I wont believe a syllable o't. Giles was a shrewd, sure-footed, bargain-driveing old cock, that knew his customer bravely.

Mabel. He pennyless! Lord help ye, Wiggins, the man was as rich as a Jew. Depend upon it, these two blades have laid violent hands on Gaffer's mouldy sovereigns, and fingered every valuable in his pack. Yea, yea, Neddy Clench, it isn't the first goodly store thou hast pillaged, nor the only savoury pie thou hast had a finger in. But it matters not. The fox can run no longer than his legs will let, and the old one must and will have his due, sooner or later, that's some comfort. Now, folk, leave off speechifying. It's no use stand. ing here wasting our wind. Dinner waits come along. [Exit Mabel. Dingle.-1 second the motion. [Exit Dingle, Wiggins. And I bring up the rcar. [Exit Wiggins.

ACT II.

SCENE. A Burial Ground. Old Jerry Waghorn the sexton leaning on a tombstone, quaffing home-brewed. His journeyman, Bob Grigg, digging a grave.

Grigg-Yes, yes, we'll get on like our neighbours-no doubt o' that; Nan's a thrifty lass, and I can handle a shovel. Never a lad in the county o' Surrey will Bob turn his back on. But as for Billy Quirk's presentation, dang it, I's afeard, mainly afeard.

Waghorn.-Afeard o' what? Poh, poh, faint heart ne'er won fair lady. Here, lad, take a sup, (hands him the mug). That pluck o' thine lacks cherishment.

Grigg (whips it off at a draught).— Prime stuff, master.

Waghorn.-Better never was bolted. Nancy Waghorn can brew a drop o' the comforter when she likes; and as for boiling, baking, stewing, and roasting getting up full and half-mourning dresses freshening hearse-plumes and cutting shroud-cloth to the best advantage, there isn't a handier girl within the bills

VOL. XVI.

o' mortality; she'll make thee a charm. ing wife, Robin.

Grigg.-I believe ye. Nance can take her bacon to market with the best o' them, and Rob's up to a trick or two. We'll have our own little difficulties to encounter at the first go off, like other young folk, but loving hearts and willing hands, you know.

Waghorn. Nothing o' the sort, Robin. Difficulties will vanish and stumbling-blocks disappear the moment Nan Waghorn becomes thy wife. She's been a dutiful child to me, and therefore have I made up my mind to settle the whole resurrection fees o' this parish upon her for a year and day.

Grigg. Said like yourself-nobly spoken-gentleman every inch o' ye. What a debt o' gratitude will Nance and I have to pay! O my heart, my uplifted heart, when wilt thou rub off the score? Never, never, never.

Waghorn. Not one stave more to that tune, Robin. She's my own, my only child, and thou'rt a deserving lad. All I possess will eventually go to her and her heirs male and female. God grant them hale hearts to enjoy it! So the snatchmoncy, ye observe, may be look'd upon merely as a lunch before dinner. But that has nothing to do with delving. Twenty guineas, I think ye said, is the price Billy Quirk sets upon his presentation. Grigg. Twenty golden guineas. Waghorn-The sum's a round one, to be sure, but the equivalent may be worthy o't. Have ye ta'en a survey?

Grigg.-0 yes-catch me at buying a pig in a poke. Nance and I had a squint at the parish last Thursday, but, good Lord! the swarms o' healthy faces that we saw was truly disheartening.

Waghorn. That's very odd, The parish o' Lankyleggan is much exposed to the Nor'-East, and consumption, I shou'd think, might help to make the sexton's pot boil. Was there no appearance o' gout, rheumatism, or other, bodily ailment.

Grigg. Neither cough nor cripple did we fall in with,-not so much as a ricketty brat.

Waghorn. Well, Robin, lad, we must e'en live and be thankful; the Lord's, will be done! These parishioners, I'm told, are all o' them plain, hard-working folk, living in a kind o' homely, primitive way, after the manner o' their forefathers; and therefore it is not to be supposed that mortality can make great progress; but as their circumstances improve, they'll indulge their carnal appe tites, and die in a reasonable space o' time, like other Christians. F

Grigg. God grant they may, for it's a populous parish, and a roomy church-yard. Waghorn (emphatically).—The day will dawn, Robin, when they'll want doctoring.

Grigg.-Thy words, master, have a prophetic twang. Dang it, if I ha'n't a great mind to nail Bill Quirk. Waghorn. So so, lad. Keep within compass, and mistake me not. I merely ventured a well-grounded opinion, that such an epoch will gradually be brought about. We all know that the very underfools o' society have a hankering after gentility, and when they do happen to arise from their low estate, we also know that nine-tenths o' them canter away to -Moll Crankum's.

Grigg. I believe they do.

Waghorn. And many diverting capers they do cut. Squire Mushroom must and will have his crusted port, sack, and canary; nothing less will go down,-Madam her tea, supper, card, and gossiping parties, balls, routes, and the devil knows what. Then begin their sorrows to bud. Drunken nights beget dry mornings, surfeit sickness, indolence indigestion on they go, devil take the hind. most. Medical men o' fashion attend the family. Mugs, phials, pots, and gallipots, duly arrive, morning, noon, and night. Good Lord deliver us from all evil! I cou'd tell a tale, Robin; but really we must not clip the credit o' our best friends. Lord take them to thyself, say I, for they've been the making o' me!

Grigg. What a pity it is that Lankyleggan shou'd be overlook'd by the Faculty. I verily believe that many o' the parishioners are wealthy, well-doing folk.

Waghorn.-Nature's an old wilful slut, Robin, and so very ticklish withal, that it wou'd be the height o' folly to intrude upon her at an unseasonable hour. When men and women o' low degree, as I before hinted, shoot up like cedars amongst the trees, and the precise nick o' time arrives, then will our medical friends open shop, because no genteel family can be truly so without their attendance. What can be more gratifying to newly-fledg'd pride, than the sight o' a spruce young blackamoor, clad in green and gold, hammering the door, and a dashing West-end M. D. jumping from his curricle, and skipping up the steps?

Grigg. Nothing in God's creation.

Waghorn. And the poor sexton, whose jaded looks and tatter'd raiment indicate the sturdiness o' his fellow-parishioners, must also feel highly gratified. In my younger days, when the sextonship o' this parish was in the

market, price fifteen guineas, and a crown to the clerk, thinks I to myself, what's best to be done? Work hard for a crust, or sup with the swallows-" better small fish than no fish," were the very words that presented themselves in reply; so, without farther prologue, off started Jerry to old Joey Bundy's office, and nabb'd the presentation.

Grigg.-Joey, I take it, was a kind o parish factotum, like our Ned Clench.

Waghorn. Much o' the same breed ; parish-clerk and select vestryman. These gentry, Robin, pocket the price o' every beneficial incumbency, from that o' the sexton himself down to the veriest beadle. God only knows how they contrive it; but well do I know, that never an official birth o' the smallest value has been given away in this parish for these last fifty years, without down-on-the-nail security, and all their bargains are negociated so very snugly under the rose, that the old one himself cou’dn't bring them to book.

Grigg. They're sad dogs, to a certainty; but it can't be help'd; no use to grumble. What can't be cur'd must e'en be endur'd, and really their charges are exhorbitant. Fifteen guineas, I shou'd think, was a long, long price, at that time o' the day.

Waghorn-Why, yes. The parish o' Paunchylaw, in those days, was just such another as Lankyleggan; little or nothing a-stir in our line. Many a weary week did I labour in the lonesome yard, grubbing up docks, cutting rank grass, and trimming graves, merely to keep up appearances.

Grigg. The most disagreeable of all disagreeable jobs that a spirited young lad can possibly fall in with.

Waghorn.-Aye, aye, Robin, these were days o' sorrow and sighing to me. Long will I remember the barren, heartless prospect, and never forget, until my dying day, what pass'd here, (smiting his bosom,) when young Doctor Gilpicson issued his cards.

Grigg-Blessed be his memory! He was the first o' the Faculty that practised in Paunchylaw, and the last o' them that left off smothering fever under warm blankets. Oh what a change has taken place for the better, since Mr Gilpieson commenced operations!

Waghorn. Yes, lad, times are improved-vastly improved. We've now, thank God, seven apothecaries, five surgeons, nine quack doctors, and a consulting physician, all in full practice.

Grigg.-Gad, I'll have another try at Billy Quirk.

Waghorn.-Well, do so, by all means,

and beat him down if ye can—there can be no harm in't,-only be sure and make use o' civil words-Bill's a mighty man, you know, in both parishes.

Grigg.-Oh, I'll tickle him gently, and butter his consequence with soft sayings, take my word for it. He'll be here by and bye, to stow away the old packman, that died as poor as a rat, to the utter astonishment o' every body. Billy, I'm fold, puts him in the ground at his own cost.

Waghorn. So they say; and I must give the poor soul a few gratuitous tinkles, as he comes up the lane, for old acquaint ance sake. Don't lay him too deep, Ro bin; he'll be lifted to-morrow night. By Jupiter, (looking up to the dial,) it's four o'clock within a handful o' minutes; they'll have him here in no time.

Grigg.-Shall I go any deeper ? Waghorn. Let me see, (looks into the grave,) yes ye may; half a spade or so. Grigg.-Thy will shall be done.

[throws out a few shovelfuls. Waghorn.-Well, go it, Rob, go it merrily. I'll up to the belfry and look out for squalls. [Exit Waghorn.

Grigg (solus).—Good old soul as ever breathed. Where's the master sexton, now-a-days, that would made so free with his own journeyman, or the man o' sub. stance that would give his only child in marriage to a shirtless lackpenny? I do believe, that a luckier lad than my own identical self never was born of a woman. Oh, Nancy, Nancy! how lovingly thee and I will lay our heads together, and skip through life hand in glove! We'll neither brew disquiet at home, nor fish for trouble in strange waters. Gentility may shun our approach, and mock gentility sneer at our avocation-my Lord Duke smile as he passeth by, and my Lady Duchess turn up her nose, because of their belief in noble and ignoble mould; but the sexton's underground knowledge biddeth him laugh in his sleeve. He can tell a tale any day o' the week that would humble their philosophy. Mould, indeed, noble and ignoble! Every grave-digger in Christendom, and elsewhere, hath buffetted titled sculls, and kicked the jowls o' knights, squires, and mongrel-gentry, about like shuttlecocks. My own experience sayeth, that gentle beef rots sooner than vulgar bacon; and many a lusty laugh have I had at Nob-ility and Mobility, when comparing ploughmen's shanks with noblemen's shins. Laugh, did I say, at rotten bones ? the world's a laughing-stock, at whose expense we jolly grave-diggers often enjoy ourselvesheartier fellows never trod thereon.

[sings.

(Enter Nan Waghorn, tripping across the graves.)

Nan.-I thought I heard a voice,
Grigg,(popping his head above ground).
Aye, love, art thee there?
Nan.-Yes, love.

Grigg. What shall I tell ye? Nan. Good news, to be sure,-have ye broken the ice?

Grigg. That I have, my lass, and most successfully too. Oh, Nancy Waghorn, thy father is a father indeed! Nothing has he denied that you and I rec koned upon all our own way-every thing to our liking.

Nun.-Blessings on him! When was he here ? How did he look? What did he say? Oh, Bobby, Bobby! tell me all in a breath.

Grigg. Why, he just said, in his own familiar, free, and easy way, "Take her, lad, and my blessing to boot. She'll have a cow and calf, her will o' the household moveables, and a few shining ones to jink in her lap when she returns from church;"-that's all that passed.

Nan. Gracious me! what a downsitting!

Grigg. I believe it is, my good girl; but that's not all. The snatch-money's ours for a year and day.

Nan. Is it possible? Oh, my love, Bobby, how gaily we'll go ! I had a squint at the Resurrection- Book this morningthe sight o't would do your eyes good.

Grigg. Yes, Nancy, love, we'll go as becomes us, take my word for it. The three first hauls shall clink in Crambonella for a crimson-velvet pelisse-thy shapely person must not be slighted. Two more, I should think, will realize a full-feathered gypsy Leghorn, ribbons and all, in St. Paul's church-yard; and devil's in't if a couple more don't fetch gold waistbandclasps, finger and ear-rings.

Nan.Gold and velvet, feathers and finery! Lard, Bobby, how ye do talk! The neighbours will stare like stuck-pigs, and that sneering slut, Bet Gandy, what sort o' cry d'ye think she'll set up?

Grigg.-Lard, Nance, how should I know? Mayhap she'll sing out, “There goes our young sextoness with three subjects on her back, two on her head, and a pair at her belt."

Nan. Bob Grigg, what sort o' language is that to fling in my face? Though a sexton's daughter, and a beadle's granddaughter, I'd have you to know that I'm.