'Where do you live ?' inquires one of the overseers.

'I rents a two-pair back, gentlemen, at Mrs.
Brown's, Number 3, Little King William's-alley, which has lived there this fifteen year, and knows me to be very hard-working and industrious, and when my poor husband was alive, gentlemen, as died in the hospital'-- 'Well, well,' interrupts the overseer, taking a note of the address, 'I'll send Simmons, the beadle, to-morrow morning, to ascertain whether your story is correct; and if so, I suppose you must have an order into the House--Simmons, go to this woman's the first thing to-morrow morning, will you ?' Simmons bows assent, and ushers the woman out.

Her previous admiration of 'the board' (who all sit behind great books, and with their hats on) fades into nothing before her respect for her lace-trimmed conductor; and her account of what has passed inside, increases--if that be possible--the marks of respect, shown by the assembled crowd, to that solemn functionary.

As to taking out a summons, it's quite a hopeless case if Simmons attends it, on behalf of the parish.

He knows all the titles of the Lord Mayor by heart; states the case without a single stammer: and it is even reported that on one occasion he ventured to make a joke, which the Lord Mayor's head footman (who happened to be present) afterwards told an intimate friend, confidentially, was almost equal to one of Mr.Hobler's.
See him again on Sunday in his state-coat and cocked-hat, with a large-headed staff for show in his left hand, and a small cane for use in his right.