Now pick you up some of the money.

Here's a hundred pound in my apron now, and gracious me! the lots more!' 'If you will keep the hundred pounds in your apron, mother, and let me have the rest, I shall be satisfied.' 'But what'll you be doing with all this goold ?' 'Preparing to make you the mother of Councillor Jenkins, or of a famous man of some sort or other.

What do you say to a poet or a prime minister ?' 'I 'ould rather you do be a councillor, than anything--like Councillor Rice, Llandore.' 'Well, I shall perhaps, be a judge with all this money, and I daresay my father--' Here a vision of the bed in the next room stopped the young man's speech, and shuddering slightly, he kicked a heap of sovereigns that lay near his foot, and sent them rolling into different corners of the room.
'Take away the ill-gotten gain, mother, it will never prosper; you had better go to bed, and I will do the same.

I suppose it would be impossible to sleep with that yellow usury on the floor.

I should have Plutus at the head of the imps of darkness about my bed, instead of "Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John," that I used to pray to "bless the bed that I lie on."' 'Don't talk so fullish, Howel.' 'Why it was you taught me all that Popery.' 'The Lord forgive you, Howel, I never did see the Pope, and 'ould sooner teach you the Methodist hymn book.' 'Well, never mind, let us go to bed.' 'I'll go down and sit by the fire.