[The Party breaks up to meet later on in the neighbourhood of
    Drury Lane.

* * * * *

FROM OUR SPORTING CITY MAN.—­“Pounded before the Start.”—­Mr. GOSCHEN’s One-pound Note scheme.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  THE CHIMES.]

(FRAGMENTS OF A DICKENSIAN DREAM UP TO DATE.)

* * * * *

It was some time before the great-little old fellow could compose himself to mend the fire, and draw his chair to the warm hearth.  But, when he had done so, and had trimmed his lamp, he took his “Extra Special” from his pocket, and began to read—­carelessly at first, and skimming up and down the columns, but with an earnest and sad attention very soon.

For this same dreadful paper re-directed Punch’s thoughts into the channel they had taken all that day; thoughts of the sufferings of the poor, the follies of the rich, the sins of the wicked, the miseries of the outcast.  Seasonable thoughts, if not exactly festive.  For all is not festive, even at the Festive Season.

Scandals in high life, starvation in low life; foul floods of nastiness in Law Courts; muddy tricklings of misery in lawless alleys; crimes so terrible and revolting; pains so pitiless and cureless; follies so selfish and wanton, that he let the journal drop, and fell back in his chair, appalled.

“Unnatural and cruel, Toby!” he cried.  “Unnatural and cruel!  None but people who were born bad at heart—­born bad—­who had no business on the earth, could do such deeds.  We’re Bad!”

The Chimes took up the words so suddenly—­burst out so loud, clear, and sonorous—­that the Bells seemed to strike him in his chair.

And what was it that they said?

“Punch and Toby!  Toby and Punch!  Waiting for you, Toby and Punch!  Come and see us!  Come and see us!  Come and see us!  Drag them to us!  Haunt and hunt them!  Haunt and hunt them.  Break their slumbers!  Break their slumbers! Punch, Toby; Toby, Punch; Toby, Punch; Punch, Toby!!” Then fiercely back to their impetuous strain again, and ringing in the very bricks and plaster on the Sanctum’s walls!

Toby barked! Punch listened!  Fancy, fancy!  No, no!  Nothing of the kind.  Again, again, and yet a dozen times again.  “Haunt and hunt them!  Haunt and hunt them!”

“If the tower is really open,” said Punch, “what’s to hinder us, Toby, from going up to the steeple, and seeing for ourselves?” “Nothing,” yapped Toby, or sounds to that effect.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  ’ARRY OUT ‘UNTIN’.

’Arry (who goes to the Meet in a frost). “’AVE THE ’OUNDS COME, MY LADS?”

Little Girl (respectfully).  “IF YOU PLEASE, SIR, OUR ’OUNDS DON’T ’UNT IN ’ARD WEATHER!”]