never been able anywhere to acclimatise themselves and had got themselves everywhere dismissed, these splendid sprigs of humanity, the first masters of young Guidon, now swore only by Henry and Escal-Vigor.
"Just say the word," suggested now one, now another, to Kehlmark. "Would you like us to sack the parsonage, or hang up high and dry this canting psalm-singer; or rather, should we skin him clean as the Smaragdites once did the apostle Olfgar, that other spoil-sport?"
And they would certainly have done as they said, at a word, or a gesture from their master, and with them, all would have let themselves loose on the importunate preacher.
Several times, in passing by the parsonage, the musicians of the guild of St. Cecilia loudly hooted. One evening after deep potations they even went so far as to break the windows. On St. Sylvester's day they placed against the minister's door a frightful manikin of straw with a head of brown bread, representing his most faithful companion and second self Mrs. Bömberg; and as, in consequence of this insult, he broke out into fresh invectives against the Dykgrave and Blandine, the Klaarvatsch rascals splashed
