“I should if I was a dozen men, my dear,” replied Mr. Raddle, pacifically; “but they’ve rather the advantage of me in numbers, my dear.”

“Ugh, you coward!” replied Mrs. Raddle, with supreme contempt.  “Do you mean to turn them wretches out, or not, Mr. Sawyer?”

“They’re going, Mrs. Raddle, they’re going,” said the miserable Bob.  “I’m afraid you’d better go,” said Mr. Bob Sawyer to his friends.  “I thought you were making too much noise.”

“It’s a very unfortunate thing,” said the prim man.  “Just as we were getting so comfortable, too.”  The fact was that the prim man was just beginning to have a dawning recollection of the story he had forgotten.

“It’s hardly to be borne,” said the prim man, looking round; “hardly to be borne, is it?”

“Not to be endured,” replied Jack Hopkins; “let’s have the other verse, Bob; come, here goes.”

“No, no, Jack, don’t,” interposed Bob Sawyer; “it’s a capital song, but I am afraid we had better not have the other verse.  They are very violent people, the people of the house.”

“Shall I step up-stairs and pitch into the landlord?” inquired Hopkins, “or keep on ringing the bell, or go and groan on the staircase?  You may command me, Bob.”

“I am very much indebted to you for your friendship and good-nature, Hopkins,” said the wretched Mr. Bob Sawyer, “but I am of opinion that the best plan to avoid any farther dispute is for us to break up at once.”

“Now, Mr. Sawyer,” screamed the shrill voice of Mrs. Raddle, “are them brutes going?”

“They’re only looking for their hats, Mrs. Raddle,” said Bob; “they are going directly.”

“Going!” said Mrs. Raddle, thrusting her night-cap over the bannisters, just as Mr. Pickwick, followed by Mr. Tupman, emerged from the sitting-room.  “Going!  What did they ever come for.”

“My dear ma’am,” remonstrated Mr. Pickwick, looking up.

“Get along with you, you old wretch!” replied Mrs. Raddle, hastily withdrawing her night-cap.  “Old enough to be his grandfather, you villain!  You’re worse than any of ’em.”

Mr. Pickwick found it in vain to protest his innocence, so hurried down-stairs into the street, whither he was closely followed by Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass.

WILLIAM MAKEPIECE THACKERAY.

BECKY GOES TO COURT AND DINES AT GAUNT HOUSE.

[From Vanity Fair.]

The particulars of Becky’s costume were in the newspapers—­feathers, lappets, superb diamonds, and all the rest.  Lady Crackenbury read the paragraph in bitterness of spirit, and discoursed to her followers about the airs which that woman was giving herself.  Mrs. Bute Crawley and her young ladies in the country had a copy of the Morning Post from town, and gave a vent to their honest indignation.  “If you had been sandy-haired, green-eyed, and a French