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 that 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

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.) Per haps 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 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.)

A

Box. (Suddenly showing his head from behind the cur tains.) 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? 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 i

(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.

4

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!

Fot. Immediately turn out that printer!

Mrs. B. Well-but, gentlemen-

Fox. Explain!

(Pulling her round to him.)

Box. Explain!
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. Now, don't quarrel, gentlemen. You see, there used to be a partition here

Fox and Box. Then put it

Mrs B.

up !

Nay, I'll see if I can't get the cther 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 even ran his 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 spoko,
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."