“What!” exclaimed Sam, on witnessing their mirth; “by fife and drum, I see nothing to laugh at in anything connected with my Beck.  I always make it a point to drink the old girl’s health when I’m from home; for I don’t know how it happens, but I think I’m never half so fond of her as when we’re separated.”

“But, Mr. Eoberts,” said Mrs. Mainwaring, laughing, “I assure you, from the compliments you paid me, I took it for granted that it was my health you were about to propose.”

“Ay, but the compliments I paid you, ma’am, were all in compliment to old Beck; but next to her, by fife and drum, you deserve a bumper.  Come, Mainwaring, get to legs, and let us have her health.  Attention, now; head well up, sir; shoulders square; eye on your wife.”

“It shall be done,” replied Mainwaring, entering into the spirit of the joke.  “If it were ambrosia, she is worthy of a brimmer.  Come, then, fill your glasses.  Edward, attend to Miss Gourlay.  Sam, help Mrs. Mainwaring.  Here, then, my dear Martha; like two winter apples, time has only mellowed us.  We have both run parallel courses in life; you, in instructing the softer and more yielding sex; I, the nobler and more manly.”

“Keep strictly to the toast, Matthew,” she replied, “or I shall rise to defend our sex.  You yielded first, you know.  Ha, ha, ha!”

“As the stronger yields to the weaker, from courtesy and compassion.  However, to proceed.  We have both conjugated amo before we ever saw each other, so that our recurrence to the good old verb seemed somewhat like a Saturday’s repetition.  As for doceo, we have been both engaged in enforcing it, and successfully, Martha”—­here he shook his purse—­“during the best portion of our lives; for which we have made some of the most brilliant members of society our debtors. Lego is now one of our principal enjoyments; sometimes under the shadow of a spreading tree in the orchard, during the serene effulgence of a summer’s eve; or, what is still more comfortable, before the cheering blaze of the winter’s fire, the blinds down, the shutters closed, the arm-chair beside the table—­on that table an open book and a warm tumbler—­and Martha, the best of wives—­

“Attention, Mainwaring; my Beck’s excepted.”

“Martha, the best of wives—­old Sam’s Beck always excepted—­sitting at my side.  As for audio, the truth is, I have been forced to experience the din and racket of that same verb during the greater portion of my life, in more senses than I am willing to describe.  I did not imagine, in my bachelor days, that the fermenting tumult of the school-room could be surpassed by a single instrument; but, alas!—­well, it matters not now; all I can say is, that I never saw her—­heard I mean, for I am on audio—­that the performance of that same single instrument did not furnish me with a painful praxis of the nine parts of speech all going together; for I do believe that nine tongues all at work could not have matched her.  But peace be with her! she is silent at last, and cannot hear me now.  I thought I myself possessed an extensive knowledge of the languages, but, alas I was nothing; as a linguist she was without a rival.  However, I pass that over, and return to the subject of my toast.  Now, my dear Martha, since heaven gifted me with you—­”