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Peregrine, having thus played upon his passions of fear and hope, answered, “that as the offence was committed in the habit of a woman, which was a disguise unworthy of the other sex, the French court was of opinion that the delinquent should be reduced to the neuter gender; so that there was no alternative at his own option, by which he had it in his power to regain immediate freedom.”—“What!” cried the painter, in despair, “become a singer? Gadzooks! and the devil and all that! I'll rather be still where I am, and let myself be devoured by vermin.” Then thrusting out his throat—“Here is my windpipe,” said he; “be so good, my dear friend, as to give it a slice or two: if you don't, I shall one of these days be found dangling in my garters. What an unfortunate rascal I am! What a blockhead, and a beast, and a fool, was I to trust myself among such a barbarous ruffian race! Lord forgive you, Mr. Pickle, for having been the immediate cause of my disaster. If you had stood by me from the beginning, according to your promise, I should not have been teased by that coxcomb who has brought me to this pass. And why did I put on this d—d unlucky dress? Lord curse that chattering Jezebel of a landlady, who advised such a preposterous disguise!—a disguise which has not only brought me to this pass, but also rendered me abominable to myself, and frightful to others; for when I this morning signified to the turnkey that I wanted to be shaved, he looked at my beard with astonishment, and, crossing himself, muttered his Pater Noster, believing me, I suppose, to be a witch, or something worse. And Heaven confound that loathsome banquet of the ancients, which provoked me to drink too freely, that I might wash away the taste of that accursed sillikicaby.”

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