Whether she would have been a match for the female acrobat who recently astounded the frequenters of a London music-hall, with the tenacious power and strength of her teeth, is another question, but she took the shine out of all her rustic competitors, and her master, Mr. John Ashbrook, felt proud of the victory she had obtained.
Now the old wives were marshalled into a line to run a race for a pound of tea.
Mother Bagley, who indignantly refused “to beneath herself by joining in such a rabbling concern,” condescended, however, to drink hot tea against other dames who worshipped the refreshing beverage.
The scalding twankey brought the tears into her eyes, but comfort to her heart.
Snuff had now become her staff of life, the prop of her old age. To be out of snuff was to be snuffed out—a dead charred wick instead of a bright and constant flame.
A tub of water was brought out and placed in the centre of the plat. Apples were called for, the largest that could be had.
The boys immediately formed themselves into a procession, and proceeded to wassail the orchard, or to go apple-howling, as it was otherwise termed.
No. 78.
DEADLY STRUGGLE BETWEEN PEACE AND CONSTABLE ROBINSON.