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but two to the post-office : you know old Thingamay, the draper?
Mil. What, Fustian's ? oh, I know him—and might I ask Mr. Rattler's profession!
Rat. Portrait-painter, artist.
Rat. Did you, though! Well, you weren 't out for once in your life—you saw me struck with your physiognomy. I must get you to give me a sitting for an antique groupe I'm about to commence.
Mil. Ah! it's a tolerable profitable calling-1
Rat. Calling! profitable ! calling what? is it oysters, or new potatoes, you mean to be “calling "? Painting, sir, is an art !—an art, one of the most inspiring that ever lifted the soul or lighted the eye of genius—what glorious recollections of the mighty dead do we not owe to the pencil, more faithful than the pen!
Mil. I love the art myself—I had a painter tenant with me for four or five years : his name was Barry-mayhap you know him?
Rat. Know him! poor Barry_excellent well! I knew him as intimately as I hope to make you know me before we part.
Mil. That door opens to Mrs. Barry's rooms—I may as well draw the bolt. I'm going to get her out to-day.
Rat. Get her out !-oh, yes !
Rat. (Aside.) I must either get into the open air to cool my blood, or create space here by tossing my fat friend out of the window. Poor Barry! But, psha !—Mr. Miller, I shall have my valuable furniture brought here immediately, so do you make the most of your time in preparation—as a matter of course you 'll call on Mr. Fustian—but I'll answer for his satisfying you on any point relative to his lodger.
Mil. Why, as a matter of form, you know—though in point
of fact, I dare say, in this case I should be just as well off without
reference. Rat. In point of fact, in this case you were never more correct in your life-as a matter of form, you may be right; but for any additional advantage you 'll reap from the inquiry, you might just as well spare your breath and save your shoes.
MILLER goes out and returns. Mil. What, you're here, eh? my dear sir, I'm delighted to see you here, hope you 'll find everything quite to your satisfaction.
Rat. The same to you, old gentleman-all right at No. 10, eh?
Mil. Never was more satisfied—I only wonder Mr. Fustian let you go at all.
Rat. Why, I do believe, entres nous, if I'd have stayed a year longer, he'd have kept me for nothing.
Mil. I believe it-never heard a man speak more highly of a lodger. I saw a wagon coming in just after me--furniture ?
Rat. I know mine 's there; I 'll have it up.
Mil. There's a little agreement, if you please to sign itsix months' notice, payment quarterly, my usual plan; here's pen and ink-I always carry it about me, and as my carriage is now waiting to take me to the city, you'll excuse my hurryhope no offence ?
Rat. None in nature. (Signs.) There !
Mil. (Signs.) And there—that's all I shall want of you just now, Mr. Rattler.
Rat. That's quite right; (Aside.) because that 's all you're likely to get, I can tell you, either now or till doomsday-oh, here's my furniture ! (To the porter.) That's all right, put down the furniture—bed in right hand corner, stool there we 'll have it all straight in a twinkling ; and
allow me to do the honors of my new apartment. Mr. Miller will you do me the honor to sit down. (Hands chair.)
Mil. Eh, eh! I see you love a joke, Mr. Rattler, eh!
Rat. No man living better—I hope you can take one.
Rat. On that mattrass, sir, I seek my soft repose-watched over by the Muses, and awakened by the Graces. Flock ! what do you mean by flock ? hair, by my beard! It contains hair enough to compose a wig for the Lord Chancellor. (Calling to servant.) Come here, Betty! Betty, here's two shillings; bring me three pounds of long eights, and ask the chandler to cut them in two.
Mil. Long eights !
Rat. That's the size. Your shop 's too far off or I'd patronize you.
I have a little soiree this evening—a sort of house warming Light, joy-giving light, is the parent of the dance, of mirth and music.
Mil. Candles ! what, fats for a party?
Rat. Muttons! honest muttons—can't stand wax, unless you
'll stand tic–in that case, send me in a box, I'll give you a liberal order.
Mil. But what have you to put lights in ? I see nothing.
Rat. Eh? right, nothing-that does n't matter-stick them against the walls, at equal distances; your muttons have an adhesive quality, which renders them self-sustainable-but stop, where shall I place my wardrobe ?
Mil. Your wardrobe! where is it?
Mil. Wardrobe ! why, that's a piece of threepenny cord ! dear me !
Rat. You're a wizard—you've guessed it—'t is, as you 'll see, both one and the other-I like an open wardrobe, it preserves one's clothes from moth or mildew, and is easily got at.
(Drives nails.) Mil. Hold ! murder ! murder! Driving tenpenny nails into the wall !
Rat. Right again ; but what ails you-one would think I was driving tenpenny nails into you, by the noise you
makeall right. There, like that ?-my own invention, combining elegance of outline with harmony of design, and simplicity of detail. (Arranges cord, and throws coat, fc., over it, which he takes out of handkerchief, 8-c., and leaves chair.)
Mil. This is too much of a joke, sir—do you think I'm a fool?
Rat. I do, and a rogue—but if you behave well, I won't expose you to the common council-say nothing, and it's a chance if they ever find you out.
Mil. But I'll take it coolly—I'll take it coolly.
Rat. Do-you 'll last the longer; and you ’ve a good deal to go through yet, old gentleman, I can tell you.
Mil. Will you answer me one question ?
Mil. Is this all the furniture you've got? And what am I to understand by this proceeding?
Rat. That's two questions ; however, I'll reply to both seriatim. First- This is all the furniture I have in the world -thanks to a hard-hearted hunks, who robbed me, when and how. I'll now explain to your perfect enlightenment, if not satisfaction. Eighteen months back, I had apartments charmingly furnished, all things fitting an artist, hoping for fair sitters, neat, clean, and comme il faut. Just settled, I had an attack of the fever--was ill three months ; got about at last, exhausted both in constitution and coin. My landlord acted towards me then, just as you desire to belave to poor Mrs. Barry-he sold my all for a mere song, and left me penni. less. Since that hour, I have been the nightmare to lodginghouse keepers; the cholera is not more shunned when abroad, more dreaded when caught, or gotten rid of with greater thankfulness.
Mil. Mercy on me—then I'm to expect no rent?
Rat. Precisely; in which expectation, I'll answer for your not being disappointed.
Mil. Mercy on me—what roguery—then all that Mr. Fustian said of youRat. Is nothing more nor less than what you
me, when I'm going to leave you, which, if you behave well, I will do at the end of six months.
'll say of
GETTING A DEGREE.-REIMER.
To Cambridge there went,
A pedant to get a degree.
In order his fitness to see.
The vain candidate
The sense of the word " create."
That's a matter not easy to state.
“ Well, this difficult word, I'm sure I have heard,
Means, 'to make out of nothing,' good Proctor !" • If that be the case," Said his dignified grace,
66 Then will I create thee a doctor !"