“Then the cook,” says i.
“We arn’t no cook,” says he.
“No cook!” says i, almose putrifide with surprise; “you must be jokin’”—
“Jokin’,” says he; “do you no who lives here?”
“Not exacly,” says i.
“Lord Milburn,” says he.
i thort i shud have dropt on the step, as a glimmerin’ of the doo shot aX my mine.
“Then you don’t want no howsmaid?” says i.
“Howsmaid!” says the boy; “go to blazes: (What could he mean by
[Illustration: GOING TO BLAZES?)]
“No; i’ve toled fifty on ye so this mornin’—it’s a oaks.”
“Then more shame of Lord Milborn to do it,” says i; “he may want a place hissef some day or other,” sayin’ of which i bounsed off the doorstep, with all tho dignity i could command.
Now, what i wants to no is, wether i can’t summons his lordship for my day out. Harry sais, should i ever come in contract with Lord Milborn, i’m to trete him with the silent kontempt of
[Illustration: AN INDIGNANT HOUSEMAID.]
* * * * *
A MOVING SCENE.
The present occupants of the government premises in Downing-street, whose leases will expire in a few days, are busily employed packing up their small affairs before the new tenants come into possession. It is a pitiful sight to behold these poor people taking leave of their softly-stuffed seats, their rocking-chairs, their footstools, slippers, cushions, and all those little official comforts of which they nave been so cruelly deprived. That man must, indeed, be hard-hearted who would refuse to sympathise with their sorrows, or to uplift his voice in the doleful Whig chorus, when he hears—
[Illustration: THE PACK IN FULL CRY.]
* * * * *
DUCROW AT SADLER’S WELLS.
When, in a melo-drama, the bride is placing her foot upon the first step of the altar, and Ruffi_aa_no tears her away, far from the grasp of her lover; when a rich uncle in a farce dies to oblige a starving author in a garret; when, two rivals duellise with toasting-forks; when such things are plotted and acted in the theatre, hypercritics murmur at their improbability; but compare them with the haps of the drama off the stage, and they become the veriest of commonplaces. This is a world of change: the French have invaded Algiers, British arms are doing mortal damage in the Celestial Empire, Poulett Thomson has gone over to Canada, and oh! wonder of wonders! Astley’s has removed to Sadler’s Wells!! The pyrotechnics of the former have gone on a visit to the hydraulics of the latter, the red fire of Astley’s has come in contact with the real water of the Wells, yet, marvel superlative! the unnatural meeting has been successful—there has not been a single hiss.