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Child. No; it don't. (Whining.) I do want a piece ; Mother, mayn't I have a piece ?

Mother. Be still; I can't get up now; I'm busy.

Child. (Crying aloud.) I want a piece of cake; I want a piece of cake.

Mother. Be still, I say; I shan't give you a bit, if don't leave off crying

Child. (Still crying.) I want a piece of cake; I want a piece of cake.

Mother. (Rising hastily and reaching a piece.) There, take that and hold your tongue. Eat it up quick; I hear Ben coming. Now, don't tell him you've had any.

Enter BEN. Child. (to Ben.) I've had a piece of cake; you can't have any!

Ben. Yes I will; mother, give me a piece.

Mother. There, take that; it seems as if I never could keep anything in the house. You see, sir, (to the child) if you get anything another time.

Excunt MOTHER and BEN. Enter little Sister. Child. Jane, I've bad a piece of cake. Jane. Have you? Oh! I want some too. Child. Well, you bawl ; mother'll give it to you. I did.



· Fox. I've half a mind to register an oath that I'll never have my hair cut again! (His hair is very short.) I look as if I had just been cropped for the militia! And I was particularly emphatic in my instructions to the hair-dresser, only to cut the ends off. He must have thought I meant the other ends! Never mind—I shan't meet anybody to care about so early. Eight o'clock, I declare! I haven't a moment to lose. Fate has placed me with the most punctual, particular, and peremptory of hatters, and I must fulfil my destiny. (Knock.) Open locks, whoever knocks !

Enter Mrs. BOUNCER. Mrs. B. Good morning, Mr. Fox. I hope you slept comfortable, Mr. Fox?

Fox. I can't say I did, Mrs. B. I should feel obliged to you, if

you could accommodate me with a more protuberant bolster, Mrs. B. The one I've got now seems to me to have about a handful and a half of feathers at each end, and nothing whatever in the middle.

Mrs. B. Anything to accommodate you, Mr. Fox.

Fox. Thank you. Then, perhaps, you 'll be good enough to hold this glass, while I finish my toilet.

Mrs. B. Certainly. (Holding glass before Fox, who ties his cravat.) Why, I do declare, you've had your hair cut.

Fox. Cut! It strikes me I've had it mowed! It's very kind of you to mention it, but I'm sufficiently conscious of the absurdity of my personal appearance already. (Puts on his coat.) Now for my hat. (Puts on his hat, which comes over his eyes.) That's the effect of having one's hair cut. This hat fitted me quite tight before. Luckily I've got two or three more. (Puts on hat.) Now I'm off! By-the-bye, Mrs. Bouncer, I wish to call your attention to a fact that has been evident to me for some time past—and that is, that my coals go remarkably fast

Mrs. B. Lor, Mr. Fox!

Fox. It is not only the case with the coals, Mrs. Bouncer, but I've lately observed a gradual and steady increase of evaporation among my candles, wood, sugar, and lucifer matches.

Mrs. B. Lor, Mr. Fox ! you surely don't suspect me?

Fox. I don't say I do, Mrs. B.; only I wish you distinctly to understand, that I don't believe it's the cat.

Mrs. B. Is there anything else you've got to grumble about sir ?

Fox. Grumble ! Mrs. Bouncer, do you possess such a thing as a Dictionary?

Mrs. B. No sir.

Fox. Then I'll lend you one-and if you turn to the letter G, you'll find "Grumble, verb neuter-to complain without a cause.” Now that's not my case, Mrs. B., and now that we are upon the subject, I wish to know how it is that I frequently find my apartment full of smoke ?

Mrs. B. Why—I suppose the chimney

Fox. The chimney doesn't smoke tobacco. I'm speaking of tobacco smoke, Mrs. B. I hope, Mrs. Bouncer, you're not guilty of cheroots or Cubas?

Mrs. B. Not I, indeed, Mr. Fox.
Fox. Nor partial to a pipe ?
Mrs. B. No, sir.
Fox. Then, how is it that,
Mrs. B. Why—I suppose-yes—that must be it-

Fox. At present I am entirely of your opinion--because I haven't the most distant particle of an idea what you mean.

Mrs. B. Why the gentleman who has got the attics, is hardly ever without a pipe in his mouth-and there he sits, with his feet on the mantel-piece

Fox. The mantel-piece! That strikes me as being a considerable stretch, either of your imagination, Mrs. B., or the gentleman's legs. I presume you mean the fender or the hob.

Mrs. B. Sometimes one, sometimes t'other. Well, there he sits for hours, and puffs away into the fire-place.

Fox. Ah, then you mean to say, that this gentleman's smoke, instead of emulating the example of all other sorts of smoke, and going up the chimney, thinks proper to affect a singularity by taking the contrary direction?

Mrs. B. Why

Fox. Then, I suppose the gentleman you are speaking of, is the same individual that I invariably meet coming up stairs when I'm going down, and going down stairs when I'm coming


Mrs. B. Why-yes-I-
Fox. From the appearance of his outward man, I should un-

hesitatingly set him down as a gentleman connected with the printing interest.

Mrs B. Yes sir-and a very respectable young gentleman he is.

Fox. Well, good morning, Mrs. Bouncer!
Mrs. B. You'll be back at your usual time, I suppose, sir ?

Fox. Yes—nine o'clock. You needn't light my fire in future, Mrs. B.-—I'll do it myself. Don't forget the bolster!

Mrs. B. He's gone at last! I declare I was all in a tremble for fear Mr. Box would come in before Mr. Fox went out. Luckily, they've never met yet-and what's more, they're not very likely to do so; for Mr. Box is hard at work in a newspaper office all night, and does n't come home till the morning, and Mr. Fox is busy making hats all day long, and doesn't come home till night; so that I'm getting double rent for my room, and neither of my lodgers are any the wiser for it. It was a capital idea of mine—that it was! But I haven't an instant to lose. First of all, let me put Mr. Fox's things out of Mr. Box's way. I really must beg Mr. Box not to smoke so much. I was so dreadfully puzzled to know what to say when Mr. Fox spoke about it. Now, then, to make the bedand don't let me forget that what's the head of the bed for Mr. Fox, becomes the foot of the bed for Mr. Box-people's tastes do differ so.

Box. (Without.) Pooh-pooh !—Why don't you keep your own side of the staircase, sir? Mrs. B. Oh, Mr. Box !

(Going. Box. Stop! Can you inform me who the individual is that I invariably encounter going down stairs when I'm coming up, and coming up stairs when I'm going down?

Mrs B. (Confused.) Oh-yes—the gentleman in the attic, sir.

Box. Oh! There's nothing particularly remarkable about him, except his hats. I meet him in all sorts of hats—white hats and black hats-hats with broad brims, and hats with narrow brims-hats with naps, and hats without naps-in short, I have come to the conclusion, that he must be indi

vidually and professionally associated with the hatting in. terest.

Mrs. B. Yes sir. And, by-the-bye, Mr. Box, he begged me to request of you, as a particular favor, that you would not smoke quite so much.

Box. Did he? Then you may tell the gentle hatter, with my compliments, that if he objects to the effluvia of tobacco, he had better domesticate himself in some adjoining parish.

Mrs B. Oh, Mr. Box! You surely wouldn't deprive me of a lodger?

Box. It would come to precisely the same thing, Bouncer, because if I detect the slightest attempt to put my pipe out, I shall give you warning at once.

Mrs. B. Well, Mr. Box-do you want anything more of me ? Box. On the contrary-I've had quite enough of you !

(Goes out slamming door after her.) Box. It's quite extraordinary, the trouble I always have to get rid of that singular old woman! Now, let me see-shall I take my nap before I swallow my breakfast, or shall I take my breakfast before I swallow my nap—I mean, shall I swallow my nap before--no-never mind! I've got a rasher of bacon somewhere—(Feeling in his pockets)—I've the most distinct and vivid recollection of having purchased a rasher of bacon--Oh, here it is-Produces it, wrapped in paper,

and places it on the table and a penny roll. The next thing is to light the fire. Where are my lucifers ? (Looking on mantel-piece, and taking box, opens it.) Now 'pon my life, this is too bad of Bouncer--this is, by several degrees, too bad! I had a whole box full, three days ago, and now there's only one! I'm perfectly aware that she purloins my coals and my candles, and my sugar—but I did think--oh, yes, I did think my

lucifer matches would be sacred! I'm certain Mrs. Bouncer has been using my gridiron! The last article of con sumption that I cooked upon it was a pork chop, and now it is powerfully impregnated with the odor of red herrings ! (Places gridiron on fire, and then, with a fork, lays rasher of


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