Squire Jones had got his evening fire on, and set himself down to reading the great Bible, when he heard a rap at his door.

Walk in. Well, John, how der do? Get out, Pompey!" Pretty well, I thank ye, Squire; and how do you do?” Why, so as to be crawling-Ye ugly beast, will ye hold your yop? Hail up a chair and sit down, John."

66

66

How do you do, Mrs. Jones?

'Oh, middlin'; how's yer marm? - Don't forget the mat there, Mr. Beedle." This put me in mind that I had been off soundings several times in the long muddy lane; and my boots were in a sweet pickle.

It was now old Captain Jones's turn, the grandfather. Being roused from a doze by the bustle and racket, he opened both his eyes at first with wonder and astonishment. At last he began to halloo so loud that you might have heard him a mile ; for he takes it for granted that everybody is just exactly as deaf as he is.

"Who is it? I say, who in the world is it?" Mrs. Jones, going close to his ear, screamed out:

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'It's Johnny Beedle."

"Ho, Johnny Beedle, I remember he was one summer at the siege of Boston."

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No, no,

father, bless your heart, that was his grandfather, that's been dead and gone this twenty year." "Ho; but where does he come from?"

"And what does he follow for a livin' ?" And he did not stop asking questions, after this sort, till all the particulars of the Beedle family were published and proclaimed in Mrs. Jones's last screech. He then sank back into his doze again.

The dog stretched himself before one andiron, the cat squat down upon the other. Silence came on by degrees, like a calm snow-storm, till nothing was heard but a cricket under the hearth, keeping tune with a sappy yellow-birch forestick. Sally sat up prim, as if she were pinned to the chair-back-her hands crossed genteelly upon her lap, and her eyes looking straight into the fire. Mammy Jones tried to straighten herself, too, and laid her hands across in her lap; but they would not lie still. It was full twenty-four hours since they had done any work, and they were out of patience with keeping Sunday. Do what she would to keep them quiet, they would bounce up now and then, and go through the motions in spite of the fourth

use

commandment. For my part, I sat looking very much like a fool The more I tried to say something, the more my tongue stuck fast. I put my right leg over the left, and said "hem." Then I changed, and put the left over the right. It was no - the silence kept coming on thicker and thicker. The drops of sweat began to crawl over me. I got my eye upon my hat, hanging on a peg, on the road to the door and then I eyed the door. At this moment, the old captain all at once sung out, "Johnny Beedle!" It sounded like a clap of thunder, and I started right up on end.

Johnny Beedle, you'll never handle sich a drumstick as your father did, if yer live to the age of Methusaler. He would toss up his drumstick, and, while it was whirlin' in the air, take off a gill er rum, and then ketch it as it come down, without losin' a stroke in the tune. What d'ye think of that, ha? But skull your chair round, close er long side o' me, so yer can hear. Now, what have you come arter ?"

"I after? Oh, jest taking a walk.”

"Pleasant walkin', I guess."

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I mean, jest to see how you all do.”

"Ho! that's another lie. You've come a-courtin', Johnny Beedle you're arter our Sal. Say, now, d'ye want to marry, or only to court?

This was what I call a choker. Poor Sally made but one jump, and landed in the middle of the kitchen; and then she skulked in the dark corner till the old man, after laughing himself into a whooping-cough, was put to bed.

;

Then came apples and cider; and the ice being broke, plenty chat with Mammy Jones, about the minister and the "sarmon.' I agreed with her to a nicety upon all the points of doctrine but I had forgot the text, and all the heads of the discourse but six. Then she teased and tormented me to tell who I accounted the best singer in the gallery that day. But, mumthere was no getting that out of me. "Praise to the face is often disgrace," says I, throwing a sly squint at Sally.

At last, Mrs. Jones lighted t'other candle; and after charging Sally to look well to the fire, she led the way to bed, and the Squire gathered up his shoes and stockings and followed.

Sally and I were left sitting a good yard apart, honest measure. For fear of getting tongue-tied again, I set right in with a steady stream of talk. I told her all the particulars about the weather that was past, and also some pretty 'cute guesses at what it was likely to be in future. At first, I gave a hitch up with my

chair at every full stop. Then, growing saucy, I repeated it at every comma and semicolon; and at last it was hitch, hitch, hitch, and I planted myself fast by her side.

“I vow,

Sally, you looked so plaguy handsome to-day that 1 wanted to eat you up."

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Pshaw-git along you," says she.

My hand had crept along somehow upon its fingers, and be gan tc scrape acquaintance with hers. She sent it home again with a desperate jerk. Tried it again

66

no better luck.

Why, Miss Jones, you're gettin' upstropulous

maidish, I guess."

"Hands off is fair play, Mr. Beedle."

- a little old

It is a good sign to find a girl sulky. I knew where the shoe pinched. It was that 'ere Patty Bean business. So I went to work to persuade her that I had never had any notion after Patty; and to prove it, I fell to running her down at a great rate. Sally could not help chiming in with me, and I rather guess Miss Patty suffered a few. I now not only got hold of her hand without opposition, but managed to slip an arm round her waist. But there was no satisfying me; so I must go to poking out my lips after a buss. I guess I rued it. She fetched me a slap on the face that made me see stars, and my ears rung like a brass kettle for a quarter of an hour. I was forced to laugh at the joke, though out of the wrong side of my mouth, which gave my face something the look of a gridiron. The battle now began in the regular way.

"Ah, Sally, give me a kiss, and have done with it."

"No I won't; so there; nor tech to."

"I'll take it, whether or no."

"Do it, if you dare."

And at it we went, rough and tumble. An odd destruction of starch now commenced. The bow of my cravat was squat up in half a shake. At the next bout, smash went shirt-collar, and at the same time some of the head-fastenings gave way, and down came Sally's hair in a flood, like a mill-dam broke loose, carrying away half a dozen combs. One dig of Sally's elbow, and my blooming ruffles wilted down into a dish-cloth. But she had no time to boast. Soon her neck-tackling began to shiver; it parted at the throat, and, hurrah! came a whole school of blue and white beads scampering and running races every which way about the floor.

By the hokey! if Sally Jones isn't real grit, there's no snakes! She fought fair, however, I must own, and neither tried to bite

or scratch; and when she could fight no longer for want of breath, she yielded handsomely.

The upshot of the matter is, I fell in love with Sally Jones, head over ears. Every Sunday night, rain or shine, finds me rapping at Squire Jones's door; and twenty times have I been within a hair's breadth of popping the question. But now I have made a final resolve; and if I live till next Sunday night, and I don't get choked in the trial, Sally Jones will hear thunder!

LONDON ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS.

[Written by a gentleman who had a slight impediment in his speech.]

I HAVE found out a gig-gig-gift for my fuf-fuf-fair,

I have found where the rattle-snakes bub-bub-breed. Will you co-co-come, and I'll show you the bub-bub-bear, And the lions and tit-tit-tigers at fuf-fuf-feed.

I know where the co-co-cockatoos' song

Makes mum-mum-melody through the sweet vale, Where the mum-monkeys gig-gig-grin all the day long, Or gracefully swing by the tit-tit-tail.

You shall pip-pip-play, dear, some did-did-delicate joke With the bub-bub-bear on the tit-tit-top of his pip-pip-pip pole,

But observe 'tis forbidden to pip-pip-poke

At the bub-bub-bear with your pip-pip-pink pip-pip-pip-pip parasol.

You shall see the huge elephant pip-pip-pip-play,

You shall gig-gig-gaze on the stit-stit-stately raccoon, And then, did-did-dear, together we'll stray,

To the cage of the bub-bub-blue-faced bab-bab-baboon.

You wished, I re-r-r-remember it well,

And I lul-lul-loved you the m-m-more for the wish, To witness the bub-bub-bub-beautiful pip-pip-pelIcan swallow the 1-1-live little fuf-fuf-fish.

APPLES.

A COMEDY IN ONE ACT.

Characters: CLAUD HUNTLEY, a painter; LADY ROEDALE ; MISS BETTY TYRREL.

SCENE.CLAUD's studio, door c.; alcove with curtains, R.; easel with canvas on it, at which CLAUD is painting, R. C.; LADY ROEDALE in easy-chair, L. C.; picture hung up at back, R.; costumes modern and appropriate.

Claud. Then why did you offer to sit to me?

Lady Roedale. Why? why ? It's too hot to give reasons. Perhaps because your studio is the coolest place in Rome. Or shall I merely say that I sit to you because I choose?

C. That's better. You always did what you wished. And now you are free. You delight in your liberty.

Lady R. "Delight" is a strong werd. It is suggestive of violent emotion. I detest violence.

C. You say with Hamlet, "Man delights me not."

Lady R, I say nothing with Hamlet. Heaven defend me from such presumption! And, besides, Hamlet was a bore, and thought too much of himself.

C. Heaven defend you from presumption! But any way you agree. You don't like man, and you do like liberty ?

Lady R. I prefer liberty, of the two. A widow can do what she pleases, and and this is far better, she need not do anything that bores her.

C. Ah, there you are wrong. Your liberty is a sham. You are bound by a thousand silk threads of society. Your conduct is modified by the criticism of a dozen tea-tables. Trippet takes your cup, and sees that your eyes are red. By the way, they are red

Lady R. (Fanning herself violently.) Thank you. If I am looking frightful, I had better finish this sitting.

C. Your eyes are red: off runs Trippet with the news. Lady Roedale has been crying. Why? Why! of course because the marchese has left Rome, says Trippet.

Lady R. Does he? Trippet is odious, and so is the marchese, a Narcissus stuffed and dyed, who has been in love with himself for seventy years. You are all insufferable all you men.