After dinner, Caleb sang the song about the Spark-
ling Bowl. As I'm a living man, hoping to keep so,
for a year or two, he sang it through.
And, by the bye, a most unlooked-for incident oc-
curred, just as he finished the last verse.
There was a tap at the door; and a man came stag-
gering in, without saying with your leave, or by your
leave, with something heavy on his head. Setting
this down in the middle of the table, symmetrically
in the centre of the nuts and apples, he said:
'Mr. Tackleton's compliments, and as he hasn't got.
no use for the cake himself, p'raps you'll eat it.'
And with those words, he walked off.
There was some surprise among the company, as
you may imagine. Mrs. Fielding, being a lady of
infinite discernment, suggested that the cake was
poisoned, and related a narrative of a cake, which,
within her knowledge, had turned a seminary for
young ladies, blue. But she was overruled by ac-
clamation; and the cake was cut by May, with much
ceremony and rejoicing.
I don't think any one had tasted it, when there
came another tap at the door, and the same man ap-
peared again, having under his arm a vast brown-
paper parcel.
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