and the sound of "God save the King!"

At that very same moment, and from the south door, issued William
Pitt Scully, Esquire, M.P., and his staff. Mr. Scully had a
brand-new blue coat and brass buttons, buff waistcoat, white
kerseymere tights, pumps with large rosettes, and pink silk
stockings.

"This wool," said he to a friend, "was grown on Oldborough sheep,
this cloth was spun in Oldborough looms, these buttons were cast in
an Oldborough manufactory, these shoes were made by an Oldborough
tradesman, this HEART first beat in Oldborough town, and pray Heaven
may be buried there!"

Could anything resist a man like this? John Perkins, who had come
down as one of Scully's aides-de-camp, in a fit of generous
enthusiasm, leaped on a whist-table, flung up a pocket-handkerchief,
and shrieked--"SCULLY FOR EVER!"

Heeltap, who was generally drunk, fairly burst into tears, and the
grave tradesmen and Whig gentry, who had dined with the Member at
his inn, and accompanied him thence to the "Gorgon Arms," lifted
their deep voices and shouted "Hear!" "Good!" "Bravo!" "Noble!"
"Scully for ever!" "God bless him!" and "Hurrah!"

The scene was tumultuously affecting; and when young Perkins sprang
down from the table and came blushing up to the Member, that
gentleman said, "Thank you, Jack! THANK you, my boy! THANK you,"
in a way which made Perkins think that his supreme cup of bliss was
quaffed; that he had but to die: for that life had no other such