r. Franklin tells us that
once in his life he paid too dear for a whistle; but then he was only
seven years old, and a whistle has its uses. But to pay such a price for
a scratch-back!--Prodigal! Come along."

As the friends strolled on, naturally enough all the young girls who
wished for ribbons, and were possessed of scratch-backs, followed in
their wake. Scratch went the instrument, but in vain.

"Lasses," said the elder, turning sharply upon them his nose in the air,
"ribbons are plentiful,--shillings scarce; and kisses, though pleasant
in private, are insipid in public. What, still! Beware! know that,
innocent as we seem, we are women-eaters; and if you follow us farther,
you are devoured!" So saying, he expanded his jaws to a width so
preternaturally large, and exhibited a row of grinders so formidable,
that the girls fell back in consternation. The friends turned down
a narrow alley between the booths, and though still pursued by some
adventurous and mercenary spirits, were comparatively undisturbed as
they threaded their way along the back of the booths, and arrived at
last on the village-green, and in front of the Great Stage.

"Oho, Lionel!" quoth the elder friend; "Thespian and classical,--worth
seeing, no doubt." Then turning to a grave cobbler in leathern apron,
who was regarding with saturnine interest the motley figures ranged
in front of the curtain as the Drumatis Persona, he said, "You seem
attracted, sir; you have probably already witnessed the performance."
"Yes," returned the Cobbler; "this is the third day, and to-morrow's
the last. I are n't missed once yet, and I sha' n't miss; but it are n't
what it was a while back."

"'That is sad; but then the same thing is said of everything by
everybody who has reached your respectable age, friend. Summers, and
suns, stupid old watering-places, and pretty young women, `are n't what
they were a while back.' If men and things go on degenerating in this
way, our grandchildren will have a dull time of it."

The Cobbler eyed the young man, and nodded approvingly. He had sense
enough to comprehend the ironical philosophy of the reply; and our
Cobbler loved talk out of the common way. "You speaks truly and
cleverly, sir. But if old folks do always say that things are worse than
they were, ben't there always summat in what is always said? I'm for the
old times; my neighbour, Joe Spruce, is for the new, and says we are all
a-progressing. But he 's a pink; I 'm