dies in the odour of Porkity, he cuts up, a highly useful creature
and a blessing to the poor man, from the ring in his snout to the
curl in his tail. Which of the poor man's other friends can say as
much? Where is the M.P. who means Mere Pork?

The dreary Sage had glided into these reflections, when he found
himself sitting by the club-house fire, surrounded by green smock-
frocks and shapeless hats: with Friar Bacon lively, busy, and
expert, at a little table near him.

"Now, then, come. The first five!" said Friar Bacon. "Where are
you?"

"Order!" cried a merry-faced little man, who had brought his young
daughter with him to see life, and who always modestly hid his face
in his beer-mug after he had thus assisted the business.

"John Nightingale, William Thrush, Joseph Blackbird, Cecil Robin,
and Thomas Linnet!" cried Friar Bacon.

"Here, sir!" and "Here, sir!" And Linnet, Robin, Blackbird, Thrush,
and Nightingale, stood confessed.

We, the undersigned, declare, in effect, by this written paper, that
each of us is responsible for the repayment of this pig-money by
each of the other. "Sure you understand, Nightingale?"

"Ees, sur."

"Can you write your name, Nightingale?"