The tune required was played, and the promised ale discussed. The 'bass,' with a feeling of gratitude, voted that they should give a parting air unsolicited.
“Vot shall it be?” demanded the 'harp.'
“Vy, considering of her size,” replied the 'fiddle,' “I thinks as nothink couldn't be more appropriate than:
'Farewell to the mountain !'”
and, striking up, they played the proposed song, marching on well pleased with the unexpected appreciation of their musical talent by the kind, and munificent Molly Scraggs!
THE EATING HOUSE.
FROM twelve o'clock until four, the eating houses of the City are crammed with hungry clerks.
Bills of fare have not yet been introduced,—the more's the pity; but, in lieu thereof, you are no sooner seated in one of the snug inviting little settles, with a table laid for four or six, spread with a snowy cloth, still bearing the fresh quadrangular marks impressed by the mangle, and rather damp, than the dapper, ubiquitous waiter, napkin in hand, stands before you, and rapidly runs over a detailed account of the tempting viands all smoking hot, and ready to be served up.