("You listen to this," said my sister to me,
in a severe parenthesis.)

Joe gave me some more gravy.

"Swine," pursued Mr. Wopsle, in his deepest
voice, and pointing his fork at my blushes, as if
he were mentioning my Christian name; "Swine
were the companions of the prodigal. The
gluttony of Swine is put before us, as an example
to the young." (I thought this pretty
well in him who had been praising up the pork
for being so plump and juicy.)" VVhat is detestable
in a pig, is more detestable in a boy."

"Or girl," suggested Mr. Hubble.

"Of course, or girl, Mr. Hubble," assented
Mr. Wopsle, rather irritably, " but there is no
girl present."

"Besides," said Mr. Pumblechook, turning
sharp on me, "think what you've got to be
grateful for. If you'd been born a Squeaker-—-"

"He was, if ever a child was," said my sister,
most emphatically.

Joe gave me some more gravy.

"Well, but I mean a four-footed Squeaker,"
said Mr. Pumblechook. "If you had been born
such, would you have been here now? Not
you——"

"Unless in that form," said Mr. Wopsle,
nodding towards the dish.

"But I don't mean in that form, sir," returned
Mr. Pumblechook, who had an objection
to being interrupted; " I mean, enjoying himself
with his elders and betters, and improving himself
with their conversation, and rolling in the
lap of luxury. Would he have been doing that?
No, he wouldn't. And what would have been
your destination?" turning on me again. "You
would have been disposed of for so many shillings
according to the market price of the
article, and Dunstable the butcher would have
come up to you as you lay in your straw, and he
would have whipped you under his left arm,
and with his right he would have tucked up his
frock to get a penknife from out of his waistcoat-
pocket, and he would have shed your blood and
had your life. No bringing up by hand then.
Not a bit of it!"

Joe offered me more gravy, which I was
afraid to take.

"He was a world of trouble to you, ma'am,"
said Mrs. Hubble, commiserating my sister.

"Trouble?" echoed my sister; "trouble?"
And then entered on a fearful catalogue of all
tlie illnesses I had been guilty of, and all the
acts of sleeplessness I had committed, and all
the high places I had tumbled from, and all the
low places I had tumbled into, and all the injuries
I had done myself, and all the times she
had wished me in my grave and I had contumaciously
refused to go there.

I think the Romans must have aggravated
one another very much, with their noses. Perhaps,
they became the restless people they were,
in consequence. Anyhow, Mr. Wopsle's Roman
nose so aggravated me, during the recital of my
misdemeanors, that I should have liked to pull
it until he howled. But, all I had endured up
to this time, was nothing in comparison with the
awful feelings that took possession of me when
the pause was broken which ensued upon my
sister's recital, and in which pause everybody
had looked at me (as I felt painfully conscious)
with indignation and abhorrence.

"Yet," said Mr. Pumblechook, leading the
company gently back to the theme from which
they had strayed, "Pork—regarded as biled—is
rich, too; ain't it?"

"Have a little brandy, uncle," said my sister.

O Heavens, it had come at last! He would
find it was weak, he would say it was weak, and
I was lost! I held tight to the leg of the table
under the cloth, with both hands, and awaited my
fate.

My sister went for the stone bottle, came back
with the stone bottle, and poured his brandy out:
no one else taking any. The wretched man
trifled with his glass—took it up, looked at it
through the light, put it down—prolonged my
misery. All this time, Mrs. Joe and Joe were
briskly clearing the table for the pie and pudding.

I couldn't keep my eyes off him. Always
holding tight by the leg of the table with my
hands and feet, I saw the miserable creature
finger his glass playfully, take it up, smile,
throw his head back, and drink the brandy off.
Instantly afterwards, the company were seized
with unspeakable consternation, owing to his
springing to his feet, turning round several
times in an appalling spasmodic whooping-cough
dance, and rushing out at the door; he then
became visible through the window, violently
plunging and expectorating, making the most
hideous faces, and apparently out of his mind.

I held on tight, while Mrs. Joe and Joe ran
to him. I didn't know how I had done it, but
I had no doubt I had murdered him somehow.
In my dreadful situation, it was a relief when
lie was brought back, and, surveying the company
all round as if they had disagreed with him,
sank down into his chair with the one significant
gasp, "Tar!"

I had filled up the bottle from the tar-water
jug. I knew he would be worse by-and-by. I
moved the table, like a Medium of the present
day, by the vigour of my unseen hold upon it.

"Tar!" cried my sister, in amazement. "Why,
how ever could Tar come there?"

But, Uncle Pumblechook, who was omnipotent
in that kitchen, wouldn't hear the word,
wouldn't hear of the subject, imperiously
waved it all away with his hand, and
asked for hot gin-and-water. My sister, who
had begun to be alarmingly meditative, had to
employ herself actively in getting the gin, the
hot water, the sugar, and the lemon-peel, and
mixing them. For the time at least, I was
saved. I still held on the leg of the table,
but clutched it now with the fervour of gratitude.

By degrees, I became calm enough to release
my grasp and partake of pudding. Mr. Pumble-
chook partook of pudding. All partook of pudding.
The course terminated, and Mr. Pumblechook
had begun to beam under the genial influeuce
of gin-and-water. I began to think I