on himself in person.  From this commanding eminence he now looked down on the housekeeper, whose nose could reach no higher than the seals of her adversary’s watch; and in proportion as the baronet felt his security, so rose his choler.  Having been for many years Proctor at the great universities of Point-street and Blue-town, as well as member of Barbican and North Corner, he was perfectly qualified, in point of classical dialect, to maintain the honour of his profession.  Nor was the lady by any means deficient.  Although she had not taken her degree, her tongue from constant use had acquired a fluency which nature only concedes to practice.

It will not be expected, nor would it be proper, that I should repeat all that passed in this concluding scene, in which the housekeeper gave us good reason to suppose that she was not quite so ignorant of the nature of the transaction as she would have had us believe.

The battle having raged for half an hour with great fury, both parties desisted, for want of breath, and consequently of ammunition.  This produced a gradual cessation of firing, and by degrees the ships separated—­the admiral, like Lord Howe on the first of June, preserving his position, though very much mauled; and the housekeeper, like the Montague, running down to join her associates.  A few random shots were exchanged as they parted, and at every second or third step on the stairs, Mrs Margaret brought to, and fired, until both were quite out of range; a distant rumbling noise was heard, and the admiral concluded, by muttering that she might go—­, somewhere, but the word died between his teeth.

“There, admiral,” said I, “did not I tell you that you would have a squall?”

“Squall! yes—­d——­n my blood,” wiping his face; “how the spray flew from the old beldam!  She’s fairly wetted my trousers, by God.  Who’d ever thought that such a purring old b——­h could have shown such a set of claws!—­War to the knife!  By heavens, I’ll make her remember this.”

Notwithstanding the admiral’s threat, hostilities ceased from that day.  The cock-and-hen admiral found it convenient to show a white feather; interest stood in the way, and barred him from taking his revenge.  Mrs Jellybag was a faithful servant, and our host neither liked that she should be interfered with, or that his house should become an arena for such conflicts; and the admiral, who was peculiarly tenacious of undrawing the strings of his purse, found it convenient to make the first advances.  The affair was, therefore, amicably arranged—­the tom cat was, in consideration of his sufferings, created a baronet, and was ever afterwards dignified by the title of Sir H. Humbug; who certainly was the most eligible person to select for god-father, as he had taken the most effectual means of weaning him from “the pomps and vanities of this wicked world.”

It was now about one o’clock, for this dispute had ran away with the best part of the morning, when Sir Hurricane said, “Come, youngster, don’t forget your engagements—­you know I have got to introduce you to my pretty cousins—­you must mind your P’s and Q’s with the uncle, for he is a sensible old fellow—­has read a great deal, and thinks America the first and greatest country in the world.”