"Ah! I'd a deal rather see her reading something serious—for life is short, Tag, and eternity's long."
"Botheration!—Stuff!—Tut!" exclaimed Tag-rag!
"You may find it out one day, my dear, when, alas! it's too late"—
"I'll tell you what, Dolly," said Tag-rag, angrily, "you're doing a great deal too much in this line of business—my house is getting like a Methodist meeting-house. I can't bear it—I can't! What the deuce is come to you all in these parts, lately?" Mr. Tag-rag, I should apprise the reader, had been induced, some three years before, to quit the Church of England and take up with Mr. Dismal Horror; but his zeal had by no means kept pace with that of his wife.
"Ah, Tag-rag," replied his wife, with a sigh, "I can only pray for you—I can do no more"——
"Oh!" exclaimed Tag-rag, with an air of desperate disgust, thrusting his hands into his pockets, and stretching his legs to their utmost extent under the table. "I'll tell you what, Mrs. T." he added after a while, "I like religion well enough—but too much of it no one can stand. Too much of one thing is good for nothing; you may choke a dog with pudding;—I sha'n't renew my sittings at Mr. Horror's."
"Oh, dear, dear pa, do! That's a love of a pa!" interposed Miss Tag-rag, twirling round on her music-stool. "All Clapham's running after him—he's quite the rage! There's the Dugginses, the Pips, the Jones, the Maggots,—and, really, Mr. Horror does preach such dreadful things, it's quite delightful to look round and see all the people with their eyes and mouths wide open—and ours is such a good pew for seeing—and Mr. Horror is such a bee—yeautiful preacher—isn't he, ma?"
"Yes, love, he is—but I wish I could see you profit by him, and preparing for death"——
"Why, ma, how can you go on in that ridiculous way? You know I'm not twenty yet, however old you and pa may be!"
"Well, well! poor Tabby!" here Mrs. Tag-rag's voice faltered—"a day will come, when"——