And of which are you the son, young man ?--though, to do you justice, you're not like the family." Two pretty young ladies turned two pretty pairs of black eyes at me, and waited for an answer: which they would have had, only the old lady began rattling on a hundred stories about the thirteen ladies above named, and all their lovers, all their disappointments, and all the duels of Mick Hoggarty.

She was a chronicle of fifty-years-old scandal.

At last she was interrupted by a violent fit of coughing; at the conclusion of which Mr.Polonius very respectfully asked me where he should send the pin, and whether I would like the hair kept.
"No," says I, "never mind the hair." "And the pin, sir ?" I had felt ashamed about telling my address: "But, bang it!" thought I, "why _should_ I ?-- 'A king can make a belted knight, A marquess, duke, and a' that; An honest man's abune his might-- Gude faith, he canna fa' that.' Why need I care about telling these ladies where I live ?" "Sir," says I, "have the goodness to send the parcel, when done, to Mr.
Titmarsh, No.

3 Bell Lane, Salisbury Square, near St.Bride's Church, Fleet Street.

Ring, if you please, the two-pair bell." "_What_, sir ?" said Mr.Polonius.
"_Hwat_!" shrieked the old lady.