bacon on the gridiron.) How sleepy I am, to be sure! I'd indulge myself with a nap if there was anybody here to superintend the turning of my bacon. (Yawning again.) Perhaps it will turn itself. I must lie down--so, here goes. Enter Fox, hurriedly. Conscious of being Fox. Well, wonders will never cease! eleven minutes and a half behind time, I was sneaking into the shop, in a state of considerable excitement, when my venerable employer, with a smile of extreme benevolence on his aged countenance, said to me-" Fox, I shan't want you to-day-you can have a holiday."-Thoughts, of "Gravesend and back-fare, One Shilling," instantly suggested themselves, intermingled with visions of "Greenwich for Fourpence!" However I must have my breakfast firstthat'll give me time to reflect. I've bought a mutton chop, so I shan't want any dinner. (Puts chop on table,) Good gracious! I've forgot the bread. Hollow! what's this? A roll, I declare! Come, that's lucky! Now, then, to light the fire. Hollow (Seeing the lucifer-box on table.)-who presumes to touch my box of lucifers? Why, it's empty! I left one in it-I'm certain I did. Why, the fire is lighted! Where's the gridiron ? On the fire, I declare! And what's that on it? Bacon? Bacon it is! Well, now, 'pon my life, there is a quiet coolness about Mrs. Bouncer's proceedings that's almost amusing. She takes my last lucifer-my coals, and my gridiron, to cook her breakfast by! No, no—I can't stand this! Come out of that. (Pokes fork into bacon, and puts it on a plate on the table, then places his chop on the gridiron.) Now, then, for my breakfast things. (Goes out, slamming the door after him.) behind the cur I wonder how Box. (Suddenly showing his head from tains.) Come in, if it's you, Mrs. Bouncer. long I've been asleep? Goodness gracious, my bacon! (Leaps off bed, and runs to the fireplace.) Holloa! what's this? A chop! Whose chop? Mrs. Bouncer's, I'll be bound. She thought to cook her breakfast while I was asleep-with my coals, too, and my gridiron! Ha, ha! But where's my bacon? (Seeing it on table.) Here it is. Well, 'pon my life, Bouncer's going it. And shall I curb my indignation? Shall I falter in my vengeance? No! (Digs the fork into the chop, opens window, and throws chop out-shuts window again.) So much for Bouncer's breakfast, and now for my own! (With the fork he puts the bacon on the gridiron again.) I may as well lay my breakfast things. Fox. (Putting his head in quickly.) Come in-come in. (Opens door, enters with a small tray, on which are tea things, and suddenly recollects.) Oh, goodness, my chop! (Running to fireplace.) Holloa! what's this? The bacon again! Oh, pooh! Bless me, I can't stand this. Who are you, sir? Box. If you come to that, who are you? Fox. What do you want here, sir? Box. If you come to that, what do you want? Box. My attic, sir? Your attic, sir! Fox. Printer, I shall do you a frightful injury, if you don't instantly leave my apartment. Box. Your apartment? You mean my apartment, you contemptible hatter, you! Fox. Your apartment? Ha, ha! Come, I like that! Look here, sir. (Produces a paper out of his pocket.) Mrs. Bouncer's receipt for the last week's rent, sir— Box. (Produces a paper, and holds it close to Fox's face.) Ditto, sir! MRS. BOUNCER runs in at door, F. Mrs. B. What is the matter? (Fox and Box seize Mrs. Bouncer by the arm, and drag her forward.) Box. Instantly remove that hatter! Fox. Immediately turn out that printer! Mrs. B. Well-but, gentlemen Fox. Explain! (Pulling her round to him.) Box. Explain! (Pulling her round to him.) Whose room is this? Fox. Yes, ma'am, whose room is this? Box. Doesn't it belong to me? Mrs. B. No! Fox. There! You hear, sir, it belongs to me! Fox and Box. Both of us? Mrs. B. Oh, dear, gentlemen, don't be angry-but, you see, this gentleman-( pointing to Box)—only being at home in the day time, and that gentleman--(pointing to Fox)—at night, I thought I might venture, until my little back second floor room was ready Fox and Box. (Eagerly.) When will your little back second floor room be ready? Mrs. B. Why, to-morrow Fox. I'll take it! Box. So will I ! Mrs. B. Excuse me; but if you both take it, you may just as well stop where you are. Fox and Box. True. Box. With all my heart, sir. room is yours, sir—now, goFox. Go? Pooh, pooh! The little back second floor Mrs. B. Now, don't quarrel, gentlemen. You see, there used to be a partition here— Fox and Box. Then put it up! this Mrs B. Nay, I'll see if I can't get the other room ready very day. Now, do keep your tempers. THE COLD-WATER MAN.-SAXE. THERE lived an honest fisherman, A grave and quiet man was he, Who loved his hook and rod; So even ran his line of life, His neighbors thought it odd. For science and for books, he said, No school to him was worth a fig, This single-minded fisherman. In short this honest fisherman, All day that fisherman would sit And gaze into the water, like A cunning fisherman was he; To charm the fish he never spoke, And many a "gudgeon" of the pond, Would own with grief, this angler had A mighty "taking way.” One day, while fishing on the log, In vain he strove with all his might, The moral of this mournful tale And he who will not "sign the pledge," And keep his promise fast, Cold-water man, at last. HOW MICHAEL FAGAN CURED HIS PIG. "The top o' the mornin' to ye, docthur." "Ah! Michael, how are you." "It's very well I am mesel', docthur; but perhaps ye'll be tellin' a poor man wot he'll be doin' for the pig, sure?" "Pig!" exclaimed the doctor, with a smile. "What pig? and what's the matter with him?" "Sure, he's very bad indade, so he is. A cowld, docthur. Snaizing and barking the head off him a'most, and I'd like to know what I'll be doin' wuth him?" "Well, really, Michael, I can't say. I'm not a pig doctor, at any rate!" |