"Hear that, ye gods, and wonder how you made him!" exclaimed Abraham, turning up his nose at his parent, and then looking to the ceiling with emotion—"You unnatural old Lear! you bloodless piece of earth!"
"Go 'long, go 'long!" said the prosaic Moses, senior; "don't talk rubbish!"
"Father!" cried the youth, with an attitude, "when I'm gone, you'll think of me, and want me back."
"Vait, my dear, till I send for you."
"When the woice is silent, you'll be glad to give a ten pun' note for an echo."
"No, my boy; I don't like the security."
"When you have lost sight of these precious featers, you'll be glad to give all you have got for a picter."
"Vot a lucky painter he'll be as draws you off!" said the stoic father.
Abraham Moses gazed upon the author of his being for one minute with intensest disgust. Then taking a chair in his hand, he first raised it in the air, and afterwards struck it with vehement indignation to the ground. That done, he seated himself with a mingled expression of injured innocence and lofty triumph.
"You old sinner," said he, "you've done for yourself."