Dummie expressed his gratitude, refilled his glass, and the hospitable matron knocking out from her pipe the dying ashes, thus proceeded—
"You sees, Dummie, though I often beats the boy, I loves him, as much as if I war his raal mother—I wants to make him an honor to his country and an ixciption to my family!"
"Who all flashed their ivories at Surgeons' Hall!" added the metaphorical Dummie.
"True!" said the lady,—"they died game, and I ben't ashamed of 'em. But I owes a duty to Paul's mother, and I wants Paul to have a long life. I would send him to school, but you knows as how the boys only corrupt one another. And so, I should like to meet with some decent man as a tutor, to teach the lad Latin and vartue!"
"My eyes!" cried Dummie, aghast at the grandeur of this desire.
"The boy is 'cute enough, and he loves reading," continued the Dame. "But I does not think the books he gets hold of will teach him the way to grow old."
"And ow came he to read anyhows?"
"Ranting Rob, the strolling player, taught him his letters, and said he'd a deal of janius!"
