“Vell, vots the odds as long as you’re happy!”

Jack was an itinerant vender of greens, and his spouse was a peripatetic distributor of the finny tribe, (sprats, herrings or mackerel, according to the season,) and both picked up a tolerable livelihood by their respective callings.

Like the lettuces he sold, Jack had a good heart, and his attention was first attracted to the subsequent object of his election by the wit of a passing boy, who asked the damsel how she sold her carrots?  Jack’s eyes were in an instant turned towards one whom he considered a competitor in the trade—­when he beheld the physiognomy of his Sarah beaming with smiles beneath an abundant crop of sunny hair!

“You are a beauty and no mistake,” exclaimed the green grocer in admiration.

“Flummery!” replied the damsel—­the deep blush of modesty mantling her cheeks.  Jack rested his basket on a post beside her stall, and drank deep draughts of love, while Sarah’s delicate fingers were skilfully employed in undressing a pound of wriggling eels for a customer.

“Them’s rig’lar voppers!” remarked Jack.

“Three to a pound,” answered Sarah, and so they slipped naturally into discourse upon trade, its prospects and profits, and gradually a hint of partnership was thrown out.

Sarah laughed at his insinuating address, and displayed a set of teeth that rivalled crimped skate in their whiteness—­a month afterwards they became man and wife.  For some years they toiled on together—­he, like a caterpillar, getting a living out of cabbages, and she, like an undertaker, out of departed soles!  Latterly, however, Jack discovered that his spouse was rather addicted to ‘summut short,’ in fact, that she drank like a fish, although the beverage she affected was a leetle stronger than water.  Their profit (unlike Mahomet) permitted them the same baneful indulgence—­and kept them both in spirits!

Their trade, however, fell off for they were often unable to carry their baskets.

The last time we beheld them, Sarah was sitting in the cooling current of a gutter, with her heels upon the curb (alas! how much did she need a curb!) while Jack, having disposed of his basket, had obtained a post in a public situation, was holding forth on the impropriety of her conduct.

“How can you let yourself down so?” said he,—­“You’re drunk—­drunk, Sarah, drunk!”

“On’y a little elevated, Jack.”

“Elevated!—­floor’d you mean.”

“Vell; vot’s the odds as long as you’re happy?”

Jack finding all remonstrance was vain, brought himself up, and reeling forward, went as straight home—­as he could, leaving his spouse (like many a deserted wife) soaking her clay, because he refused to support her!

SCENE XVI.

“Lawk a’-mercy!  I’m going wrong! and got to walk all that way back again.”

A pedestrian may get robbed of his money on the highway, but a cross-road frequently robs him of time and patience; for when haply he considers himself at his journey’s end, an impertinent finger-post, offering him the tardy and unpleasant information that he has wandered from his track, makes him turn about and wheel about, like Jim Crow, in anything but a pleasant humor.