dish, in which a diminutive joint of mutton simmers above a vast
heap of half-browned potatoes. How the young rogues clap their
hands, and dance round their father, for very joy at the prospect
of the feast: and how anxiously the youngest and chubbiest of the
lot, lingers on tiptoe by his side, trying to get a peep into the
interior of the dish. They turn up the street, and the chubby-
faced boy trots on as fast as his little legs will carry him, to
herald the approach of the dinner to 'Mother' who is standing with
a baby in her arms on the doorstep, and who seems almost as pleased
with the whole scene as the children themselves; whereupon 'baby'
not precisely understanding the importance of the business in hand,
but clearly perceiving that it is something unusually lively, kicks
and crows most lustily, to the unspeakable delight of all the
children and both the parents: and the dinner is borne into the
house amidst a shouting of small voices, and jumping of fat legs,
which would fill Sir Andrew Agnew with astonishment; as well it
might, seeing that Baronets, generally speaking, eat pretty
comfortable dinners all the week through, and cannot be expected to
understand what people feel, who only have a meat dinner on one day
out of every seven.

The bakings being all duly consigned to their respective owners,
and the beer-man having gone his rounds, the church bells ring for
afternoon service, the shops are again closed, and the streets are
more than ever thronged with people; some who have not been to
church in the morning, going to it now; others who have been to
church, going out for a walk; and others--let us admit the full
measure of their guilt--going for a walk, who have not been to
church at all. I am afraid the smart servant of all work, who has
been loitering at the corner of the square for the last ten