THE LAMB. 8 79 



voice boiling over with disappointed 

 rage. 



I was standing one afternoon, in the 

 early part of my stoppage at Ely, in the 

 bar of the " Lamb," (if a small slip 

 taken from the passage with an uneven 

 brick floor a few shelves upon which 

 stood some dusty bottles and from which 

 dangled, by way of ornament, some 

 cabbage-nets holding pieces of half-squeezed 

 musty lemon deserve that appellation,) 

 and looking through the latticed window, 

 I saw a gentleman with a most remark- 

 able visage, shorn as it was of its most 

 prominent feature, advancing up the yard. 

 He enquired of the landlady, who was 

 sitting quiet in the corner, when he 

 entered, in a brusque familiar manner, 

 what he could have for dinner. 



" Pitchcocked eels and mutton chops, sir," 

 was the answer. 



"I might have known that," said he, 



