arsenic had failed, Mr Vanslyperken, in his superstition, accounted for it on the grounds that the woman was not the active agent on the occasion, having only prepared the herring, it not having been received from her hands by Smallbones.  The reader may recollect that, in the last interview between Vanslyperken and his mother, the latter had thrown out hints that if she took Smallbones in hand he would not have such miraculous escapes as he had had, as, in all she undertook, she did her business thoroughly.  Bearing this in mind, Mr Vanslyperken went to pour forth his sorrows, and to obtain the assistance of his much-to-be-respected and venerable mother.

“Well, child, what is it—­is it money you bring?” cried the old woman, when Vanslyperken entered the room.

“No, mother,” replied Vanslyperken, throwing himself on the only chair in the room, except the one with the legs cut off half-way up, upon which his mother was accustomed to rock herself before the grate.

“No, mother; but I have brought something—­and I come to you for advice and assistance.”

“Brought no money—­yet brought something!—­well, child, what have you brought?”

“This!” exclaimed Vanslyperken, throwing the dog’s tail down upon the table.

“This!” repeated the old beldame, lifting up the tail, and examining it as well as she could, as the vibration of her palsied members were communicated to the article—­and pray, child, what is this?”

“Are you blind, old woman,” replied Vanslyperken in wrath, “not to perceive that it is my poor dog’s tail?”

“Blind old woman! and dog’s tail, eh!  Blind old woman, eh!  Mr Cornelius, you dare to call me a blind old woman, and to bring here the mangy tail of a dog—­and to lay it on my table!  Is this your duty, sirrah?  How dare you take such liberties?  There, sir,” cried the hag in a rage, catching hold of the tail, and sending it flying out of the casement, which was open—­“there, sir—­and now you may follow your tail.  D’ye hear?—­leave the room instantly, or I’ll cleave your craven skull.  Blind old woman, forsooth—­undutiful child—­”

Vanslyperken, in spite of his mother’s indignation, could not prevent his eyes from following the tail of his dog, as it sailed through the ambient air surrounding the half-way houses, and was glad to observe it landed among some cabbage-leaves thrown into the road, without attracting notice.  Satisfied that he should regain his treasure when he quitted the house, he now turned round to deprecate his mother’s wrath, who had not yet completed the sentence which we have quoted above.

“I supplicate your pardon, my dear mother,” said Vanslyperken, who felt that in her present humour he was not likely to gain the point with her that he had in contemplation.  “I was so vexed—­so irritated—­that I knew not what I was saying.”

“Blind old woman, indeed,” repeated the beldame.

“I again beg you to forgive me, dearest mother,” continued Vanslyperken.