To see a sick uncle—I could n't do less.
Short, short, were my slumbers, as paper-work near'd;
My Logic was shady, my Latin I fear'd;
Up, up in the morning—up, up late at night;
And yet I am plough'd and my tutor is right.
Little Mr. Bouncer, with his love for a chorus, repeated the last line with great vigour, and would feign have volunteered an accompaniment on his post-horn; but (happily) that instrument was not just within his reach, and he was too comfortably ensconced in his easy-chair to rise up to get it; so he demanded an encore, and repeated the chorus to his great satisfaction.
Other specimens from the recent examinations were then quoted; but as they were for the most part replies to questions in the Divinity vivâ voce, the talk of them had better be left to the obscurity of the cigar-smoke in little Mr. Bouncer's room. It was very evident, however, that more than one Mr. Anser had failed to answer his examiners' questions, except in an outrageously absurd way; and that. poor Mr. Goosey, in spite of his assumed look of wisdom, was in danger of being plucked. But, such is the goose's doom.
