A few days after, the carolling of Mrs. Norah surprised Uncle Timothy, who recognising the real culprit in the eccentric muse of Mr. Benjamin Bosky, he took the lauréat to task for putting his wardrobe into metre, hitching his Christian name into ludicrous rhyme, and turning the head and untuning the voice of the hitherto anti-musical Norah Noclack. Mr. Bosky exhibited deep contrition, but as Mr. Bosky's contrition bore considerable resemblance to Mr. Liston's tragedy, Uncle Timothy always dreaded to encounter it when anything serious was in the case. And so completely did the old chantress inoculate the solemn clerk with her musical mania, that one evening, when called upon for a toast and a song at the club * of the Knights of St. John of Jerusalem, held in an ancient trophied chamber over the venerable gateway of the Priory, he startled his brother knights with his unwonted enthusiasm. “Uncle Timothy! Sound trumpets! wave banners! shout voices!” This was the longest public oration that Mr. Fixture had made in his life. Certainly the only song that he was ever known to have sung was the old-fashioned housekeeper's——
* This club consists of more than fifteen hundred members.
Their orgies are celebrated every Monday evening throughout
the year. The chair is taken at nine, and vacated at twelve.
APOTHEOSIS OF UNCLE TIM'S BRAN NEW BUTTONS AND BLUE.=
If I had my widow or maiden's whim—
I know who—I know who
It should be! Why, Uncle Tim,
In his bran new buttons and blue.
Tim's a middle ag'd gentleman sleek,
With a laughing eye and a cherry cheek!
He loves a good joke