I was at Jim Hood's, the bassoon-man's, this morning, attending his wife, and he swears he'll be revenged on the parson--a confounded, methodistical, meddlesome chap, who must be putting his finger in every pie.

What was it all about ?' 'O, a passill o' nonsense,' said Mr.Hackit, sticking one thumb between the buttons of his capacious waistcoat, and retaining a pinch of snuff with the other--for he was but moderately given to 'the cups that cheer but not inebriate', and had already finished his tea; 'they began to sing the wedding psalm for a new-married couple, as pretty a psalm an' as pretty a tune as any in the prayer-book.

It's been sung for every new-married couple since I was a boy.

And what can be better ?' Here Mr.
Hackit stretched out his left arm, threw back his head, and broke into melody-- 'O what a happy thing it is, And joyful for to see, Brethren to dwell together in Friendship and unity.
But Mr.Barton is all for th' hymns, and a sort o' music as I can't join in at all.' 'And so,' said Mr.Pilgrim, recalling Mr.Hackit from lyrical reminiscences to narrative, 'he called out Silence! did he?
when he got into the pulpit; and gave a hymn out himself to some meeting-house tune ?' 'Yes,' said Mrs.Hackit, stooping towards the candle to pick up a stitch, 'and turned as red as a turkey-cock.

I often say, when he preaches about meekness, he gives himself a slap in the face.