The mirth proceeds, and, ere long, gives place to harmony; and when the cookery is finished, the bird is speedily converted into an anatomical preparation,—albeit her interarticular cartilages are somewhat tough, and her lateral ligaments apparently composed of a substance between leather and caoutchouc. As afternoon advances, the porter of the dissecting-room finds them performing an incantation dance round Mr. Muff, who, seated on a stool placed upon two of the tressels, is rattling some halfpence in a skull, accompanied by Mr. Rapp, who is performing a difficult concerto on an extempore instrument of his own invention, composed of the Scotchman’s hat, who is still grinding in the Museum, and the identical thigh-bone that assisted to hang Mr. Muff’s patriarchal old hen!
SIGNS OF THE TIMES.
“The times are hard,” say the knowing ones. “Hard” indeed they must be when we find a DOCTOR advertising for a situation as WET-NURSE. The following appeared in the Times of Wednesday last, under the head of “Want Places.” “As wet-nurse, a respectable person. Direct to DOCTOR P——, C—— Common, Surrey.” What next?