Here a deep groan from Mr. Twaddleton arrested the progress of the proceedings, and threw the whole party into a fit of laughter. As soon as tranquillity was restored, Mrs. Seymour again dipped her hand into the box, and drew forth the fragments of a work on Real Property.
“That,” said Mr. Seymour, “is entail; pray, cut it off, and give it to me.”
“We have here,” continued the lady, “the Memoirs of an Italian Bandit.”
“Then prepare him for his fate; I have a noose quite ready for his reception.”
“Here is a poem, entitled Waterloo.”
“I will patronise it,” said her husband; “and I warrant you that, under my auspices, the muse will soar to a greater height than she ever could otherwise have attained.”
“We have here, I declare, a part of * * * * [sic] pamphlet.”
“Then I have lost my wager,” exclaimed Mr. Seymour, “for I defy the power of man to make either head or tail of it.”
Thus did Mr. and Mrs. Seymour proceed; the one cutting paper, the other cutting jokes; nor did the former cease stringing puns, until he had finished stringing the tail.
“I must now conclude by making a knot that shall not be in danger of becoming untied in the breeze,” said Mr. Seymour: “but stop, stop one moment! I still require one more piece of paper to complete my task, and let it be double.”