"What kind of a dog do you call that?" he added.

"A greyhound, full blooded, sir."

"Full blooded?" says the country sportsman. "Well, he don't look as though he had much blood in him. He'd look better, wouldn't he, mister, if he was full bellied--looks as hollow as a flute!"

This remark, for a moment, rather staggered the dog man, who first looked at his dog and then at the critic. Choking down his dander, or disgust, says he:

"That's the best greyhound you ever saw, sir."

"Well, what do you ask for him?"

"Seventy-five dollars."

"What? Seventy-five dollars for that dog frame?"

"I guess you're a fool any way," says the dog man: "you don't know a hound from a tan yard cur, you jacka.s.s! Phe-e-wt! come along, Jerry!"

and the man and dog disappeared.

The man with the hollow dog had not stepped out two minutes, before the servant appeared with two more dog merchants; both had their specimens along, and were invited to "step in."

"Ah! that's a dog!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the country sportsman, the moment his eyes lit upon the ma.s.sive proportions of a thundering edition of Mt. St.

Bernard.

"That _is_ a dog, sir," was the emphatic response of the dog merchant.

"How much do you ask for that dog?" quoth the sportsman.

"Well," says the trader, patting his dog, "I thought of getting about fifty-five dollars for him, but I--"

"Stop," interrupted the country sportsman, "that's enough--he won't suit, no how; I can't go them figures on dogs." The man and dog left growling, and the next man and dog were brought up.

"Why, that's a queer dog, mister, ain't it? 'Tain't got no hair on it; why, where in blazes did you raise such a dog as that; been scalded, hain't it?" says the rural sportsman, examining the critter.

"Scalded?" echoed the dog man, looking no ways amiable at the speaker, "why didn't you never see a Chinese terrier, afore?"

"No, and if that's one, I don't care about seeing another. Why, he looks like a singed possum?"

"Well, you're a pooty looking country jake, you are, to advertise for a _dog_, and don't know Chiney terrier from a singed possum?"

Another rap at the door announced more dogs, and as the man opened it to get out with his singed possum, a genus who evidently "killed for Keyser," rushed in with a pair of the ugliest-looking--savage--snub-nosed, slaughter-house pups, "the fancy"

might ever hope to look upon! As these meat-axish canines made a rush at the very boot tops of the country sportsman, he "shied off," pretty perceptibly.

"Are you de man advertised for de dogs, sa-a-ay? You needn't be afraid o' dem; come a'here, lay da-own, Balty--day's de dogs, mister, vot you read of!"

"Ain't they rather fierce?" asked the rural sportsman, eyeing the ugly brutes.

"Fierce? Better believe dey are--show 'em a f-f-ight, if you want to see 'em go in for de chances! You want to see der teeth?"

"No, I guess not," timidly responded the sportsman; "they are not exactly what I want," he continued.

"What," says Jakey, "don't want 'em? Why, look a'here, you don't go for to say dat you 'spect I'm agoin' for to fetch d-dogs clean down here, for nuthin', do you, sa-a-ay? Cos if you do, I'll jis drop off my duds and lam ye out o' yer boots!"

Jakey was just beginning to square, when his belligerent propositions were suddenly nipped in the bud, by the servant opening the door and ushering in more dogs; and no sooner did Jakey's pups see the new-comers, than they went in; a fight ensued--both of Jakey's pups lighting down on an able-bodied, big-bone sorrel dog, who appeared perfectly happy in the transaction, and having a tremendous jaw of his own, made the bones of the pups crack with the high pressure he gave them. Of course a dog fight is the _cue_ for a man fight, and in the wag of a dead lamb's tail, Jakey and the proprietor of the sorrel dog had a dispute. Jakey was att.i.tudinizing _a la_ "the fancy," when the sorrel dog man--who, like his dog, was got up on a liberal scale of strength and proportions--walked right into Jakey's calculations, and whirled him in double flip-flaps on to the wash-stand of the rural sportsman's room!

Our sporting friend viewed the various combatants more in bodily fear than otherwise, and was making a break for the door, to clear himself, when, to his horror and amazement, he found the entry beset by sundry men and boys, and any quant.i.ty of dogs--dogs of every hue, size, and description. At that moment the chawed-up pups of Jakey, and their equally used-up master, came a rushing down stairs--another fight ensued on the stairs between Jakey's dogs and some others, and then a stampede of dogs--mixing up of dogs--tangling of ropes and straps--cursing and hurraing, and such a time generally, as is far better imagined than described. The boarders hearing such a wild outcry--to say nothing of the yelps of dogs, came out of their various rooms, and retired as quickly, to escape the stray and confused dogs, that now were ki-yi-ing, yelping, and pitching all over the house! By judicious marshalling of the servants--broom-sticks, rolling-pins and canes, the dogs and their various proprietors were ejected, and order once more restored; the country sportsman seized his valise, paid his bills and "vamosed the ranche," and ever after it was incorporated in the rules of the Irving, that gentlemen are strictly prohibited from dealing in dogs while "putting up" in that house.

Amateur Gardening.

"I don't see what in sin's become of them dahlias I set out this Spring," said Tapehorn, a retired slop-shop merchant, to his wife, one morning a month ago, as he hunted in vain among the weeds and gra.s.s of his garden, to see where or when his two-dollars-a-piece dahlia roots were going to appear.

"Can't think what's the matter with 'em," he continued. "Goldblossom said they were the finest roots he ever sold--ought to be up and in bloom--two months ago."

"Oh, pa, I forgot to tell you," said Miss Tapehorn, "that our Patrick, one morning last Spring, was digging in the garden there, and he turned up some things that looked just like sweet potatoes; mother and I looked at them, and thought they were potatoes those Mackintoshes had left undug when they moved away last winter!"

"Well, you-a--" gasped Tapehorn.

"Well, pa, ma and I had them all dug up and cooked, and they were the meanest tasting things we ever knew, and we gave them all to the pigs!"

Tapehorn looked like a man in the last stages of disgust, and jamming his fists down into his pockets, he walked into the house, muttering:

"Tut, tut, tut!--thirty-two dollars and the finest lot of dahlias in the world--_gone to the pigs!_"

The Two Johns at the Tremont.

It is somewhat curious that more embarra.s.sments, and queer _contre temps_ do not take place in the routine of human affairs, when we find so _many_ persons floating about of one and the same name. It must be shocking to be named John Brown, troublesome to be called John Thompson, but who can begin to conceive the horrors of that man's situation, who has at the baptismal font received the t.i.tle of _John Smith_?

Now it only wants a slight accident, the most trivial occurrence of fate--the meeting of two or three persons of the same name, or of great similarity of name, to create the most singular and even ludicrous circ.u.mstances and tableaux. One of these affairs came off at the Tremont House, some time since. One Thomas Johns, a blue-nose Nova-Scotian--a man of "some pumpkins" and "persimmons" at home, doubtless, put up for a few days at the Tremont, and about the same time one John Thomas, a genuine son of John Bull, just over in one of the steamers, took up his quarters at the same respectable and worthy establishment.

Thomas Johns was a linen draper, sold silks, satinets, linen, and dimities, at his establishment in the Provinces, and was also a politician, and "went on" for the part of magistrate, occasionally. John Thomas was a retired wine-merchant, and, having netted a bulky fortune, he took it into his head to _travel_, and as naturally as he despised, and as contemptuously as he looked upon this poor, wild, unsophisticated country of ours, he nevertheless condescended to come and look at us.

Well, there they were, Thomas Johns, and John Thomas; one was "roomed"

in the north wing, the other in the south wing. Thomas Johns went out and began reconnoitering among the Yankee shop-keepers. John Thomas, having a fortnight's pair of sea legs on, and full of bile and beer, laid up at his lodgings, and pa.s.sed the first three days in "hazing around" the servants, and blaspheming American manners and customs.

Old John was quietly snoring off his bottle after a sumptuous Tremont dinner, when a repeated rap, rap, rap at his door aroused him.

"What are you--at?" growls John.

"It's ma, zur?" says one of the Milesian servants.

"Blast yer hies, what want yer?" again growls John.

"If ye plaze, zur, there's a young man below wishes to see you," says the servant.