The Young Ladies.—And we must not even take tea!
Oriel.—Dear sisters, I said not so. You may do as you list; but I am strong (with a heart-broken sigh); don’t ply me (he reels). I took a little water and a parched pea after matins. To-morrow is a flesh day, and—and I shall be better then.
Rev. O. Slocum (from within).—Madam, I take your heart with my small trump.
Oriel.—Yes, better! dear sister; it is only a passing—a—weakness.
Miss I. Chauntry.—He’s dying of fever.
Miss Chauntry.—I’m so glad De Boots need not leave the Blues.
Miss Pyx.—He wears sackcloth and cinders inside his waistcoat.
Miss De l’Aisle.—He’s told me to-night he is going to—to—Ro-o-ome. [Miss De l’Aisle bursts into tears.]
Rev. O. Slocum.—My lord, I have the highest club, which gives the trick and two by honours.
Thus, you see, we have a variety of clergymen in Our Street. Mr. Oriel is of the pointed Gothic school, while old Slocum is of the good old tawny port-wine school; and it must be confessed that Mr. Gronow, at Ebenezer, has a hearty abhorrence for both.