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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. Fox. Well, wonders will never cease! Conscious of being 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 first that'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.)

Box. (Suddenly showing his head from behind the curtains.) Come in, if it's you, Mrs. Bouncer. I wonder how 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?

going it.

(Seeing it on table.) Here it is. Well, 'pon my life, Bouncer's

And shall I curb my indignation? Shall I falter in my vengeance? No! (Digs the fork into the chop, opens window, and throws chop outshuts 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?
Fox. Go to your attic, sir-
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 ! Both. Mrs. Bouncer!

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 !
Foc. 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!
Mrs. B. No—it belongs to both of you!
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.
Fox. I spoke first, sir-

Box. With all my heart, sir. The little back second floor room is

yours,

sir-now, goFox. Go? Pooh, pooh!

Mrs. B. Now, don't quarrel, gentlemen. You see, there used to be a partition here

Fox and Box. Then put it up!

Mrs B. Nay, I'll see if I can't get the other room ready this very day. Now, do keep your tempers.

THE COLD-WATER MAN-SAXE.

There lived an honest fisherman,

I knew him passing well-
Who dwelt hard by a little pond,

Within a little dell.

A

grave and quiet man was he,

Who loved his hook and rod; So eren ran bis line of life,

His neighbors thought it odd.
For science and for books, he said,

He never had a wish ;
No school to him was worth a fig,

Except a “school" of fish.

This single-minded fisherman

A double calling had, --
To tend his flocks, in winter-time,

In summer, fish for shad.

In short this honest fisherman,

All other toils forsook ; And though no vagrant man was he,

He lived by "hook and crook." All day that fisherman would sit

Upon an ancient log, And gaze into the water,

like Some sedentary frog.

A cunning fisherman was he;

His angles all were right; And, when he scratched his aged poll,

You'd know he got a bite,

To charm the fish he never spoke,

Although his voice was fine;
He found the most convenient way,

Was just to “ drop a line.

And many a “gudgeon" of the pond,

If made to speak to-day, Would own with grief, this angler had

A mighty taking way.

One day, while fishing on the log,

He mourned his want of luck,-
When, suddenly, he felt a bite,

And jerking-caught a duck!
Alas! that day, the fisherman

Had taken too much grog;
And being but a landsman, too,

He couldn't “ keep the log."
In vain he strove with all his might,

And tried to gain the shore;-
Down, down he went to feed the fish

He'd baited oft before!
The moral of this mournful tale

To all is plain and clear :-
A single “ drop too much” of rum,

May make a watery bier.
And he who will not sign the pledge,"

And keep his promise fast,
May be, in spite of fate, a starle

Cold-water man, at last.

HOW MICHAEL FAGAN CURED HIS PIG.

• The top of 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 !"

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