up, and he know'd nothing about parishes, he didn't.—And what's the lady's name?' says the lawyer. My father was struck all of a heap. 'Blessed if I know,' says he.—'Not know!' says the lawyer.—'No more nor you do,' says my father, 'can't I put that in arterwards?'—'Impossible!' says the lawyer.—'Wery well,' says my father, after he'd thought a moment, 'put down Mrs. Clarke.'—What Clarke?' says the lawyer, dipping his pen in the ink.—'Susan Clarke, Markis o' Granby, Dorking,' says my father; 'she'll have me, if I ask, I des-say—I never said nothing to her, but she'll have me, I know.' The licence was made out, and she did have him, and what's more she's got him now; and I never had any of the four hundred pound, worse luck. Beg your pardon, sir," said Sam, when he had concluded, "but wen I gets on this here grievance, I runs on like a new barrow vith the wheel greased." Having said which, and having paused for an instant to see whether he was wanted for anything more, Sam left the room.
"Half-past nine-just the time-off at once;" said the gentleman, whom we need hardly introduce as Mr. Jingle.
"Time—for what?" said the spinster aunt, coquettishly.
"Licence, dearest of angels-give notice at the church—call you mine, to-morrow"—said Mr. Jingle, and he squeezed the spinster aunt's hand.
"The licence!" said Rachael, blushing.
"The licence," repeated Mr. Jingle—
"In hurry, post-haste for a licence,
In hurry, ding dong I come back."
"How you run on," said Rachael.
"Run on—nothing to the hours, days, weeks, months, years, when we're united—run on—they'll fly on—bolt—mizzle—steam-engine—thousand-horse power-nothing it."
"Can't-can't we be married before to-morrow morning?" inquired Rachael.
"Impossible—can't be—notice at the church—leave the licence to-day—ceremony come off to-morrow."
