PAUL CLIFFORD, Volume 6.

By Edward Bulwer-Lytton



CHAPTER XXVIII.

God bless our King and Parliament,
And send he may make such knaves repent!
Loyal Songs against the Rump Parliament.


Ho, treachery! my guards, my cimeter!
BYRON.

When the irreverent Mr. Pepper had warmed his hands sufficiently to be
able to transfer them from the fire, he lifted the right palm, and with
an indecent jocularity of spirits, accosted the _ci-devant_ ornament of
"The Asinaeum" with a sounding slap on his back, or some such part of his
conformation.

"Ah, old boy!" said he, "is this the way you keep house for us? A fire
not large enough to roast a nit, and a supper too small to fatten him
beforehand! But how the deuce should you know how to provender for
gentlemen? You thought you were in Scotland, I'll be bound!"

"Perhaps he did when he looked upon you, Ned!" said Tomlinson, gravely;
"'t is but rarely out of Scotland that a man can see so big a rogue in so
little a compass!"