significance. The elder gentleman took the cry so ill, that he

watched his opportunity, and smote the young gentleman on the

ear.

“What d’ye mean? What are you hooroaring at? What do you

want to conwey to your own father, you young Rip! This boy is a

getting too many for me!” said Mr. Cruncher, surveying him. “Him

and his hooroars! Don’t let me hear no more of you, or you shall

feel some more of me. D’ye hear?”

“I warn’t doing no harm,” Young Jerry protested, rubbing his

cheek.

“Drop it then,” said Mr. Cruncher; “I won’t have none of your

no harms. Get a top of that there seat, and look at the crowd.”

His son obeyed, and the crowd approached; they were bawling

and hissing round a dingy hearse and dingy mourning coach, in

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which mourning coach there was only one mourner, dressed in the

dingy trappings that were considered essential to the dignity of

the position. The position appeared by no means to please him,

however, with an increasing rabble surrounding the coach,

deriding him, making grimaces at him, and incessantly groaning

and calling out: “Yah! Spies! Tst! Yaha! Spies!” with many

compliments too numerous and forcible to repeat.

Funerals had at all times a remarkable attraction for Mr.

Cruncher; he always pricked up his senses, and became excited,

when a funeral passed