all rolled into a drift, just opposite Daly’s backey shop.  There were about twenty of us in together, but being pretty near the top, I was soon on my legs, and seeing an opening, I bolted right forward—­sent three or four fellows flying—­dashed down the passage behind Saxby’s wine vaults, across the Steyne, floundering into the drifts, followed by the mob, shouting and pelting me all the way.  This double made some of the beggars over-shoot the mark, and run past the statute of George the Fourth, but, seeing their mistake, or hearing the other portion of the pack running in the contrary direction, they speedily joined heads and tails, and gave me a devil of a burst up the narrow lane by the Wite ’Orse ’Otel.  Fortunately Jonathan Boxall’s door was open, and Jonathan himself in the passage bar, washing some decanters.  “Look sharp, Jonathan!” said I, dashing past him as wite as a miller, “look sharp! come out of that, and be after clapping your great carcase against the door to keep the Philistines out, or they’ll be the death of us both.”  Quick as thought the door was closed and bolted before ever the leaders had got up, but, finding this the case, the mob halted and proceeded to make a deuce of a kick-up before the house, bellowing and shouting like mad fellows, and threatening to pull it down if I did not show.  Jonathan got narvous, and begged and intreated me to address them.  I recommended him to do it himself, but he said he was quite unaccustomed to public speaking, and he would stand two glasses of “cold without” if I would.  “Hot with,” said I, “and I’ll do it.”  “Done,” said he, and he knocked the snow off my coat, pulled my wig straight, and made me look decent, and took me to a bow-winder’d room on the first floor, threw up; the sash, and exhibited me to the company outside.  I bowed and kissed my hand like a candidate.  They cheered and shouted, and then called for silence whilst; I addressed them.  “Gentlemen,” said I, “Who are you?” “Why, we be the men wot carried your honour’s glory from Cavendish Street, and wants to be paid for it.”; “Gentlemen,” said I, “I’m no orator, but I’m a honest man; I pays everybody twenty shillings in the pound. and no mistake (cheers).  If you had done your part of the bargain, I would have done mine, but ’ow can you expect to be paid after spilling me?  This is a most inclement day, and, whatever you may say to the contrary, I’m not Mr. Clement Wigney.”—­“No, nor Mr. Faithful neither,” bellowed one of the bearers.—­said I, “you’ll get the complaints of the season, chilblains and influhensa, if you stand dribbling there in the snow.  Let me advise you to mizzle, for, if you don’t, I’m blowed if I don’t divide a whole jug of cold water equally amongst you.  Go home to your wives and children, and don’t be after annoying an honest, independent, amiable publican, like Jonathan Boxall.  That’s all I’ve got to say, and if I was to talk till I’m black in the face, I couldn’t say nothing more to the purpose; so, I wishes you all ’A Merry Christmas and an ’Appy New Year.’”