st worth listening to, when he is in his true rostrum,
when his bluchers are on his native foot-board, and his name is, more
intensely than ever, Doctor Marigold! Don't we all remember him there,
for example, on a Saturday night in the market-place--"Here's a pair of
razors that'll shave you closer than the board of guardians; here's a
flat-iron worth its weight in gold; here's a frying-pan artificially
flavoured with essence of beefsteaks to that degree that you've only got
for the rest of your lives to fry bread and dripping in it and there
you are replete with animal food; here's a genuine chronometer-watch, in
such a solid silver case that you may knock at the door with it when you
come home late from a social meeting, and rouse your wife and family
and save up your knocker for the postman; and here's half a dozen
dinner-plates that you may play the cymbals with to charm the baby when
it's fractious. Stop! I'll throw you in another article, and I'll give
you that, and it's a rolling-pin; and if the baby can only get it well
into it's mouth when its teeth is coming, and rub the gums once with
it, they'll come through double in a fit of laughter equal to being
tickled." And so on, ringing the changes on a thousand wonderful
conceits and whimsicalities that come tumbling out one after another in
inexhaustible sequence and with uninterrupted volubility.

The very Prince of Cheap Jacks, surely, is this Doctor Marigold! And,
more than that, one who makes good his claim to the title of wit,
humorist, satirist, philanthropist, and philosopher.

As for his philosophic contentment, what can equal that as implied in
his summing up of his own humble surroundings? "A roomy cart, with the
large goods hung outside, and the bed slung underneath it when on the
road; an iron-pot and a kettle, a fireplace for the cold weather, a
chimney for the smoke, a hanging-shelf and a cupboard, a dog and a
horse. What more do you want? You draw off on a bit of turf in a green
lane or by the roadside, you hobble your old horse and turn him grazing,
you light your fire upon the ashes of the last visitors, you cook your
stew, and you wouldn't call the Emperor of France your father."

As for his wit, hear him describe--"What? Why, I'll tell you! It's made
of fine gold, and it's not broke, though there's a hole in the middle of
it, and it's stronger than any fetter that was ever forged. What else
is it? I'll tell you. It's a hoop of solid gold wrappe