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But gentlemen, it is difficult to smile with an aching heart; it is ill jesting when our deepest sympathies are awakened. My client's hopes and prospects are ruined ; and it is no figure of speech to say that her occupation is gone indeed. The bill is down — but there is no tenant. Eligible single gentlemen pass and repass — but there is no invitation for them to inquire within, or without. All is gloom and silence in the house; even the voice of the child is hushed; his infant sports are disregarded when his mother weeps ; his "alley tors" and his “commoneys" are alike neglected; he forgets the long familiar cry of “knuckle down”, and at tip cheese, or odd and even, his hand is out. But Pickwick, gentlemen, Pickwick, the ruthless destroyer of this domestic oasis in the desert of Goswell-street - Pickwick, who comes before you to-day with his heartless tomato sauce and warming pans — Pickwick still rears his head with unblushing effrontery, and gazes without a sigh on ruin he has made. Damages, gentlemen — heavy damages is the only punishment with which you can visit him; the only recompense you can award to my client. And for those damages she now appeals to an enlightened, a high-minded, a right-feeling, a conscientious, a dispassionate, a sympathising, a contemplative jury of her civilized countrymen.
HOW TO TELL BAD NEWS.
Mr. H. Ha! steward, how are you, my old boy? How do things go on at home ?
Steward. Bad enough, your honor; the magpie’s dead.
Mr. H. Did he, faith! a greedy dog; why, what did he get he liked so well ?
Steward. Horse-flesh, sir; he died of eating horse-flesh.
Mr. H. How came he to get so much horse-flesh ?
Steward. Oh, sir, your father's house is burned down to the ground.
Mr. H. My father's house burned down ! and how came it set on fire ?
Steward. I think, sir, it must have been the torches.
Steward. Yes, poor gentleman; he took to his bed as soon as he heard of it.
Mr. H. Heard of what ?
Steward. Yes sir, your bank has failed, and your credit is lost, and you are not worth a shilling in the world. I made bold, sir, to come to wait on you about it, for I thought you would like to hear the news.
“Rat it !” cried Hodge, and scratch'd his head,
“ That does my wits belabor : But howsomde'er, I'll homeward run,
And ax old Giles, my neighbor.”
To Giles he went, and put the case,
With circumspect intention : “ Thou fool,” cried Giles, “I'll make it clear
To thy dull comprehension.
“ Three children has Tom Long, the smith,
Or cattle-doctor rather;
Now, who is Harry's father?”
SELECTIONS IN PROSE.
Greenbank's Lectures 66
Greenbank's Lectures 69
Greenbank's Lectures 70
Blackwood's Magazine 64
Horace Walpole 81
Lord Chatham 82