10 Specimens of Death. 



the flames ! Get up ! Get up ! your crutches are burnt, and there's no 

 hope, if you can't use your legs." 



"My carriage! Warbery! Tom! Murder! Nobody here who 

 knows me ! all fiends all radicals ! Dame Gleeson, you used to be a 

 Tory" 



" Aye, but you cured me o'that, Sir Jacob. Who levied on me for 

 rent after I had paid it, because my brother wouldn't vote for the cursed 

 Orange ?" 



" Who bought up my debts, and made me a bankrupt ?" 



" Who built a pig-stye opposite my door ?" 



" Who caused my son to be taken by the press-gang ?" 



" Who disputed my title to lands which my forefathers had enjoyed for 

 ages, and after having ruined me by litigation, got them at half-price, by 

 domineering over the bidders V 



" Who turned the stream that worked my mill ?" 



" Who brought all of us, and hundreds more, to the workhouse ?" 



" Howl howl curses in his ear ! Shriek horrors to his departing 

 spirit." 



" Avaunt, wretches, beldames, paupers ! Phantoms of those I've heard 

 of! Warbery, rouse me from this dream !" 



" It's all reality, Sir Jacob. I told you, forty years ago, you'd die 

 miserably, in a sorry workhouse and here you are gasping your last 

 breath among your victims. Dog, you have had your day." 



" You lie, Ghost ! Warbery, set fire to them ! More air more air ! 

 They want to smother me. Warbery, open the windows, and tell me how 

 stands the poll !" 



" All against Orange, Sir Jacob ; its reign is over. Your eyes are 

 glazed, and your lips blue. Do you fancy you're picking butter-cups ?" 



" No, Devils legions of little ones crawling on the counterpane off 

 with 'em, Warbery look to the Treasury Bench." 



Ah ! Death is at hand, Sir Jacob !" 



' It's a lie ! I'll see out the Session ! Mr. Speaker, I appeal to you ! " 



" In half-an-hour your account will be casting up." 



" Warbery, hurl them to " 



" He's busy canvassing against your nominee. Forget him, and think 

 of your sins. Death is coming." 



"Keep him off! I'm not ready! Another time to-morrow! I 

 won't have him. Give me my crutch summon the Serjeant-at-Arms 

 he wants to close with me Warbery, punch his bony head hold him 

 hard kick him down stairs he clutches my throat I'll enfranchise the 

 borough Radical Reform Warbery War " 



As he uttered the last syllable, Sir Jacob was seized with violent convul. 

 sions which, in a few moments, carried him off 



- i* 



