"But that arn't he," said Tom t.i.tus. "He 's some'er aboot here as dead as a darng'd nail. I know he 's a corpse."

"Are you sure on 't?" asked Tooler.

"There arn't any barn door deader," cried Tom. "Here, I'll lug um out an' show yar."

"No, no!" shouted Tooler, as Tom proceeded to pull out the luggage.

"I marn't stay for that. I 'm an hour behind now, blarm un! jimp up, genelmen!"

Tom t.i.tus and his companions, who wanted the bull-terrier as a trophy, entreated Tooler to allow them to have it, and, having at length gained his consent, Tom proceeded to empty the boot. Every eye was, of course, directed to everything drawn out, and when Tom made a solemn declaration that the boot was empty, they were all, at once, struck with amazement. Each looked at the other with astounding incredulity, and overhauled the luggage again and again.

"Do you mean to say," said Tooler, "that there arn't nuffin else in the boot?"

"Darnged a thing!" cried Tom t.i.tus, "coom and look." And Tooler did look, and the gentleman in black looked, and Bob looked, and Harry looked, and Bill looked, and Sam looked, and all looked, but found the boot empty.

"Well, blarm me!" cried Tooler. "But darng it all, he must be somewhere!"

"I' ll taake my solum davy," said Bill, "that he _was_ there."

"I seed um myself," exclaimed Bob, "wi' my oarn eyes, an' didn't loike the looks on um a bit."

"There cannot," said the gentleman in black, "be the smallest possible doubt about his having been there; but the question for our mature consideration is, where is he now?"

"I 'll bet a pint," said Harry, "you blowed um away?"

"Blowed um away, you fool!--how could I ha' blowed um away?"

"Why, he _was_ there," said Bob, "and he baint there noo, and he baint here nayther, so you mus ha' blowed um out o' th' boot; 'sides, look at the muzzle o' this ere blunderbust!"

"Well, of all the rummest goes as ever happened," said Tooler, thrusting his hands to the very bottom of his pockets, "this ere flogs 'em all into nuffin!"

"It is perfectly astounding!" exclaimed the gentleman in black, looking again into the boot, while the men stood and stared at each other with their mouths as wide open as human mouths could be.

"Well, in wi' 'em agin," cried Tooler, "in wi' 'em!--Blarm me if this here arn't a queer un to get over."

The luggage was accordingly replaced, and Tooler, on mounting the box, told the men to get a gallon of beer, when the gentleman in black generously gave them half a crown, and the horses started off, leaving Tom with his blunderbuss, Harry, Bill, Sam, and their companions, bewildered with the mystery which the whole day spent in the alehouse by no means enabled them to solve.

THERE'S BUT ONE PAIR OF STOCKINGS TO MEND TO-NIGHT.

Recite this in a simple unaffected manner; carefully avoiding anything like _rant_. At times the voice should sink tremulously low, as the good dame recalls memories of her departed children:

An old wife sat by her bright fireside, Swaying thoughtfully to and fro, In an ancient chair whose creaky frame Told a tale of long ago; While down by her side, on the kitchen floor, Stood a basket of worsted b.a.l.l.s--a score.

The old man dozed o'er the latest news, Till the light of his pipe went out, And, unheeded, the kitten, with cunning paws, Rolled and tangled the b.a.l.l.s about; Yet still sat the wife in the ancient chair, Swaying to and fro, in the firelight glare.

But anon a misty tear-drop came In her eye of faded blue, Then trickled down in a furrow deep, Like a single drop of dew; So deep was the channel--so silent the stream-- The good man saw naught but the dimmed eye-beam.

Yet he marvelled much that the cheerful light Of her eye had weary grown, And marvelled he more at the tangled b.a.l.l.s; So he said in a gentle tone, "I have shared thy joys since our marriage vow, Conceal not from me thy sorrows now."

Then she spoke of the time when the basket there Was filled to the very brim, And how there remained of the goodly pile But a single pair--for him.

"Then wonder not at the dimmed eye-light, There's but one pair of stockings to mend to-night.

"I cannot but think of the busy feet, Whose wrappings were wont to lie In the basket, awaiting the needle's time, Now wandered so far away; How the sprightly steps to a mother dear, Unheeded fell on the careless ear.

"For each empty nook in the basket old, By the hearth there's a vacant seat; And I miss the shadows from off the wall, And the patter of many feet; 'Tis for this that a tear gathered over my sight At the one pair of stockings to mend to-night.

"'Twas said that far through the forest wild, And over the mountains bold, Was a land whose rivers and darkening caves Were gemmed with the rarest gold; Then my first-born turned from the oaken door, And I knew the shadows were only four.

"Another went forth on the foaming waves And diminished the basket's store-- But his feet grew cold--so weary and cold-- They'll never be warm any more-- And this nook in its emptiness, seemeth to me To give forth no voice but the moan of the sea.

"Two others have gone towards the setting sun, And made them a home in its light, And fairy fingers have taken their share To mend by the fireside bright; Some other baskets their garments fill-- But mine! Oh, mine is emptier still.

"Another--the dearest--the fairest--the best-- Was ta'en by the angels away, And clad in a garment that waxeth not old, In a land of continual day.

Oh! wonder no more at the dimmed eye-light, While I mend the one pair of stockings to-night."

A LOVE OF A BONNET

(FOR FEMALE CHARACTERS ONLY.)

CHARACTERS.

MRS. CLIPPER, a Widow.

KITTY, her Daughter.

AUNT JEMIMA HOPKINS, a leetle inquisitive.

MRS. HORTENSIA FASTONE, very genteel.

DORA, her Daughter.

KATY DOOLAN, Irish Help.

SCENE.--_Room in_ MRS. CLIPPER'S _House. Lounge_, L.; _Chairs_, C.; _Table and Rocking-chair, Looking-gla.s.s_, R.

_Enter_ MRS. CLIPPER _and_ KITTY, R.

_Mrs. C._ But really, Kitty, I cannot afford it.

_Kitty._ O, yes, you can, mother; just this once. It's such a love of a bonnet! it's so becoming! and it only costs fifteen dollars.

_Mrs. C._ Fifteen dollars! Why, child, you are crazy! We cannot afford to be so extravagant. The income derived from the property your dear father left will only allow us to dress in the most economical manner.

_Kitty._ But this bonnet is not extravagant. Dora Fastone wears a bonnet which cost twenty-five-dollars, and her father has failed five or six times. I don't see why I can't have a new bonnet as well as that proud, stuck-up--

_Mrs. C._ Hush, my child! never speak ill of our neighbors because they dress better than we do. If they spend money foolishly, we should endeavor to use ours to better purpose. I am sure I should be glad to gratify you, but we have so many expenses. Your music lessons cost a great deal of money; and your brother Harry, off at school, is really suffering for a new suit of clothes. I must send him some money to-day.