Excerpt from The Works of Thomas Hood, Vol. 6 But the clock was a story-teller; for the true time was One, as marked by the short hand on the dial. The truth was, our family clock an old-fashioned machine, in a tall mahogany case, and surmounted by three golden balls, as if it had be longed to the Lombards was apt to chime very capri ciously. However, it struck seven just as my father came down stairs from the bedroom, rubbing his hands, and whistling in a whisper, as his custom was when he was well pleased, and walking along the passage somewhat more than usual on his tiptoes, with a jaunty gait, he stepped into the sitting-room to communicate the good news. But there was nobody in the parlor except the little fairy-like gentleman, who walked jauntily to meet him, rubbing his hands, and silently whis tling, in the old mirror, a large circular one, presided over by some bronze bird, sacred perhaps to Esculapius, and there fore carrying a gilt bolus, attached by a chain to his beak. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.