Valentine, "open the door;" but Valentine was too much engaged to pay attention to any such request.

At this moment the footsteps of Pluniplee were heard upon the stairs, and Mr. Beagle, who then began to feel somewhat better, cried, "Come in! my good friend, come in !"

"What on earth is the matter?" inquired Mr. Plumplee, as he entered the room pale as a ghost, in his night shirt, with a pistol in one hand and a lamp in the other.

"It's all right," said Beagle; "'twas I that made the noise. I've been besieged by a cohort of cats. They have been at it here making most healthful music under my bed for the last two hours, and in trying to make them hold their peace with the bolster, I upset that noisy affair, that's all."

Cats !" cried Mr. Plumplee, "cats! you ate a little too much cucumber, my friend! that and the crabs were too heavy for your stomach! you have been dreaming! you've had the nightmare! We haven't a cat in the house; I can't bear them."

"You are mistaken," rejoined Beagle, they're about here in swarms. If I've turned one cat out this night, I'm sure that I've turned out twenty! I've in fact done nothing else since I came up! In and out, in and out! Upon my life, I think I can't have opened that blessed door less than a hundred and fifty times; and that young fellow there has been all the while fast as a church!"

"I tell you, my friend, you've been dreaming! We have never had a cat about the premises."

"Meyow,-meyow!" cried Valentine, quietly.

"Now have I been dreaming?" triumphantly exclaimed Mr. Beagle; "now have I had the nightmare?"

"Bless my life !" cried Mr. Plumplee, jumping upon Mr. Beagle's bed, "they don't belong to me."

"I don't know whom they belong to," returned Mr. Beagle, "nor do I much care; I only know that there they are! If you'll just hook those breeches up here, I'll get out and half murder them! only hook 'em this way! I'll wring their precious necks off!"

"They're out of my reach," cried Mr. Plumplee. "Hish! hish!" Finding, however, that harsh terms had no effect, he had recourse to the milder and more persuasive cry of Pussy pussy, pussy, pussy! kit, kit, kit!"

"Hish! you devils!" cried Mr. Jonas Beagle, who be gan to be really enraged.

66

Kitty, kitty, kitty, kitty!-puss, puss, puss!" repeated Mr. Plumplee, in the blandest and most seductive tones, as he held the pistol by the muzzle to break the back or to knock out the brains of the first unfortunate cat that made her appearance; but all this persuasion to come forth had no effect; they continued to be invisible, while the mewing proceeded in the most melancholy strain.

"What on earth are we to do?" inquired Plumplee; "I myself have a horror of cats."

"The same to me, and many of 'em !" observed Mr. Beagle. "Let's wake that young fellow, perhaps he don't mind them."

"Hollo!" cried Plumplee.

"Hullo!" shouted Beagle; but as neither could make any impression upon Valentine, and as both were afraid to get off the bed to shake him, they proceeded to roll up the blankets and sheets into balls, and to pelt him with infinite zeal.

"Who's there? What's the matter?" cried Valentine at length, in the coolest tone imaginable, although his exertions had made him sweat like a tinker.

"For Heaven's sake, my dear young friend," said Plumplee, "do assist us in turning these cats out."

"Cats! Where are they? Hish!" cried Valentine. "Oh, that's of no use. I've tried the hishing business myself. All the hishing in the world won't do. They must be beaten out; you're not afraid of them, are you?" "Afraid of them! afraid of a few cats!" exclaimed Valentine, with the assumption of some considerable magnanimity. "Where are they?"

"Under my bed," replied Beagle. "There's a brave fellow! Break their blessed necks!" Valentine leaped out of bed, and, after striking at the imaginary animals very furiously with the bolster, he hissed with great violence, and scratched across the grain of the boards in humble imitation of those domestic creatures scampering out of a room, when he rushed to the door, and proceeded to make a very forlorn meyowing die gradually away at

the bottom of the stairs.

"Thank Heaven! they are all gone at last!" cried Mr

Beagie; Iwe shall be able to get a little rest, now, I sup. pose;" and after very minutely surveying every corner of the room in which it was possible for one of them to have ingered, he lighted his candle, bade Plumplee good night, and begged him to go immediately to Miss Madonna, who had been calling for an explanation very anxiously below.

As soon as Plumplee had departed, Valentine assisted Beagle to re-make his bed; and when they had accomplished this highly important business with the skill and dexterity of a couple of thoroughbred chambermaids, the light was again extinguished, and Mr. Beagle very naturally made up his mind to have a six hours' sound and uninterrupted sleep. He had, however, scarcely closed his eyes, when the mewing was renewed, and as he had not even the smallest disposition to "listen to the sounds so familiar to his ear," he started up at once, and exclaimed, “I wish I may die if they're all out now! Here's one of them left!" added he, addressing Valentine; but Valentine, having taken a deep inspiration, answered only with a prolonged gurgling sound. "He's off again, by the living Jove!" continued Beagle; "I never heard of any one sleeping so soundly. Hallo! my good fellow! ho! Fast as a fouryear-old! Won't you be quiet, you witch? Are you determined not to let me have a wink of sleep to-night? She must be in the cupboard. I must have overlooked her; and yet I don't see how I could. Oh, keep the thing up, dear! Don't let me rest !" and he fumbled about for his box, and, having taken a hearty pinch of snuff, began to turn the thing seriously over in his mind, and to make a second person of himself, by way of having, under the circumstances, a companion with whom he could advise and if necessary remonstrate.

"Well, what's to be done, now?" inquired he of the second person thus established. "What's to be the next step, Jonas? It's of no use at all, you know! we can't go to sleep; we may just as well try to get a kick at the moon! nor must we again disturb-Hish! you-Jonas! Jonas! keep your temper, my boy! keep your temper! Don't let a contemptible cat put you out!" and Mr. Bea gle took another pinch of snuff, from which he apparently derived a great degree of consolation. "What! at it again?

he continued. "I wish I had the wringing of your neck off, madam! You want to put me in a passion; but you won't! you can't do it! therefore, don't lay that flattering unction to your soul! Well, Jonas, how are we to act? Shall we sit here all night, or take up our bed and walk, Jonas; eh?"

Jonas was so struck with the expediency of the latter course, that he apparently urged its immediate adoption; for Mr. Beagle, in the first place, half dressed himself in bed, and in the next, threw the counterpane, a blanket, and a sheet over his shoulder, when, tucking a pillow and a bolster under his arm, said, "We'll leave you to your own conscience madam? Good night !" and left the room with the view of seeking repose upon the sofa.

Valentine was astonished at the coolness displayed by Mr. Beagle throughout the entire transaction; and after reproaching the spirit of mischief that was within him, and striving, by way of a punishment, to disturb his own repose, and succeeding, too, as well as the monks of old did, when they inflicted the scourge upon themselves, he proceeded to justify himself upon the ground that his object was to learn the true characters of men, and being perfectly satisfied with that justification, went soundly and solemnly to sleep.

HOW'S MY BOY-SYDNEY DOBELL.

Ho, Sailor of the sea!

How's my boy-my boy?

"What's your boy's name, good wife,

And in what good ship sailed he?”

My boy John

He that went to sea

What care I for the ship, sailor?

My boy's my boy to me.

You come back from sea,

And not know my John?

I might as well have asked some landsman

Yonder down in the town.

There's not an ass in all the parish

But he knows my John.

How's my boy-my boy?
And unless you let me know
I'll swear you, are no sailor,
Blue jacket or no,

Brass button or no, sailor,
Anchor or crown or no!

Sure his ship was the Jolly Briton
"Speak low, woman, speak low!"

And why should I speak low, sailor?
About my own boy John?
If I was loud as I am proud
I'd sing him over the town!
Why should I speak low, sailor?—
"That good ship went down."?

How's my boy-my boy?
What care I for the ship, sailor,
I never was aboard her.

Be she afloat, or be she aground,
Sinking or swimming, I'll be bound,
Her owners can afford her!

I say, how's my John?

Every man on board went down,
Every man aboard her."

How's my boy-my boy?

What care I for the men, sailor?
I'm not their mother-

How's my boy-my boy?
Tell me of him and no other!

How's my boy-my boy?

I SUE FOR DAMAGES.

Now, Lawyer, I'll tell you my story-you'll have to be patient with me,

I never went to law before, and it make me nervous, you sec; For it does not seem a woman's place, and many a time I've said

That nothing would ever take me to court-I'd suffer wrong instead.

Not for myself do I come here now; I could suffer on, alone,I come for my fatherless children, helpless and starving at home;

Starving, because their father for liquor sold his life.

Thank God for the Adair Liquor Law! the friend of the drunkard's wife.