—but it was always coot to be shly in pizziness.’ So far from losing in his esteem the young gentleman actually assured me that I was the gainer by my reserve. I was forced into a seat between the fat Leah and the fatter Esther—Salome and Miriam toyed with my watch-chain, and asked me “what prishe those coots fetched at Vienna?’ whilst sweet Sarah (I can state, with some confidence, that the young lady must have weighed at least fourteen stone) asked me ‘if I had a shveethart in Germany?’—and the little Keziah pulled my hair, as she thought, playfully, but the tears started into my eyes with pain. Aaron stood on guard behind me on one side, and Joseph on the other, whilst young Benjamin was in front, and had effectually cut off my retreat. Mrs. Moss meanwhile leered lovingly at this touching family scene. Where was it all to end? Alas! I was soon to receive information upon the point.
“An old Jew—a thin Jew—a small Jew—a Jew with spectacles—a most ill-looking, and abominable Jew was soon seen hurrying to the corner of the room where I was toying in silken dalliance with this galaxy of Hebrew fair ones. No sooner had he cast his eyes upon me than he called out:
“‘An imposhtor! An imposhtor! ma tears. That ish not Ishaak—de son of my old friend Isshacar Grunne, de great rag-merchant of Vienna, who is coming to England to take him a woife. An imposhtor, ma tears, a very apominable imposhter inteet. Avay mit him, poys!’
It was idle for me to protest my innocence of all complicity with the deception in which I had borne so prominent and so innocent a part. The young ladies in chorus protested that I had told them jointly and severally that I was Isaac Grunne, and when I ventured to controvert, or contest the statement in the most delicate manner, Aaron hit me a blow behind which sent me staggering into Benjamin’s arms. ‘Did I call his shisters liars—a low peasht!’ Benjamin hit me back! ‘What did I mean by tumbling up against a shentleman?’ Joseph hit at me right and left, without wasting any time in preliminary observations. In the twinkling of an eye I was hustled and pummelled to the head of the staircase. I saw there seated on a bench the Wanderer with the fair-haired Miriam reclining upon his breast, and playfully counting the contents of a purse with which, as I presumed, he had just presented her. I had not, however, much time for observation. There had been a pause, during which Aaron held me by the collar—Joseph had taken up a position a little below on the first landing—his brother Benjamin descended to the second, which was only divided by a straight flight of steps from the street. When these preparations were completed, there was a cry—
“‘Go a’ed, Haaron!’
“—and a kick. I flew into space—and then a