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 of the dry details of the day. On one occasion, while paying a tribute of more than ordinary attention to a string of elaborate eulogia on the merits of some article of sale, delivered by the eloquent lips of him of the hammer, his ears were suddenly assailed by the well known voice of his son, a boy of five years of age, who had been charged with a message of special importance from the guidwife, to the frequenter of the nocturnal howff. “Fayther!” vociferated the unceremonious rascal, “yer parritch is ready!” Honest Thomas looked certain “unutterable things,” as the eyes of a hundred individuals were simultaneously directed first to the quarter whence the salute proceeded, and then to the subject of the address. He cleared the mob in one step—bolted from the threshold in another, and finished a third with a smart application of a weighty tacketted shoe to the astonished retreater’s seat of honour, while he grinned out, “Ye deevil’s Jawcobeet! the next time ye come wi’ sic an eerand, say a Gentleman’s waitin’ on me.” An opportunity soon occurred for a display of the urchin’s new-acquired politesse;—two evenings afterwards he was observed popping in his antiquated phiz, and magnanimously bawling the intelligence regarding the gentleman in waiting. He was answered with a complaisant “Vera