"The same to me, and many of 'em!" observed Mr. Beagle. "Let's wake that young fellow, perhaps he don't mind them." "Hallo!" cried Plumplee. "Hallo!" 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?" "There's a brave Valentine leaped "Under my bed," replied Beagle. fellow! Break their blessed necks!" 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!" said Mr. Beagle. "We shall be able to get a little rest, now, I suppose;" and after surveying every corner of the room in which it was possible for one of them to have lingered, he lighted his candle and bade Plumplee good-night. As soon as Plumplee had departed, Valentine assisted Beagle to re-make his bed. The light was again extin I guished, 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 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 four-year-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. Beagle 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, 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 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, and, 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. 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? Brass buttons or no, sailor, Sure his ship was the 'Jolly Briton' "Speak low, woman, speak low!" "And why should I speak low, sailor, 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? Be she afloat, or be she aground, Sinking or swimming, I'll be bound "Every man on board went down, "How's my boy-my boy? 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 makes me nervous, you see; 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. These terrible, last few years seem just like a dream to me, And I almost think I'll wake and find our home as it used to be, My husband happy and loving, our children merry and bright, And now,—oh, what is the good of the law, if our wrongs it does not right? Little by little the demon crept into this home of ours-- powers; If y f you never saw a loved one drawn, as if by a fatal spell, Till day after day, and night after night, were spent in a drinking hell. I cannot tell my anguish as those days and nights passed by; I know 'tis the hardest part of life to see one's husband die; But to see him in a drunkard's death! all other deaths seem light; I wish a few of our landlords could have stood by him that night. Men in the best society, who blocks of property own, Who once had hearts of flesh, which money has turned to stone; Men who own their pews in church-perhaps, if they could be At one of the deaths they help to make, their eyes would open and see; Men who roll in money from the rents which they receive, wrong, Is releasing us from their bondage,-this slavery borne so long. And to-day, in the name of my children who are starving, I come to you, That you may sue for the money that to them is justly due; I come in the name of the happy home that millions could not restore; I come in a murdered husband's name-oh, what can I say more! I come in the name of a broken heart, that money can never heal; I come in the name of a righteous God, from whom there is no appeal; In the name of all that was dear in life; bitter though I may be, Sue these property owners for the thousands they owe to me. I know there are some of our rich men who think this law is wrong, Who are trying to have it "modified," and plenty will help them along. What to them is a drunkard's life, if his money has helped to pay The rents which they and their families spend in pleasure every day! |