missing!"

It was only last week, a whole flight of sparrows rose at my very feet--I
fired--bang!--no go!--but I heard a squall; and elevating my glass, lo! I
beheld a cottage within a few yards of my muzzle--the vulgar peasant took
the trouble to leap his fence, and inform me I had broken his windows--of
course I was compelled to pay him for his panes.

To be sure he did rather indicate a disposition to take away my
gun--which I certainly should never have relinquished without a
struggle--and so I forked out the dibs, in order to keep the piece! I'm
quite positive, however, that the vagabond over-charged me, and I kicked,
as was quite natural, you know, under such circumstances!

I really have an imperfect notion of disposing of my shooting-tackle--but
I'm such an unfortunate devil, that I really believe when I post 'em up
for sale--my gun will not go off!--dem me!

SCENE XVIII.

"Have you read the leader in this paper, Mr. Brisket?"

"No! I never touch a newspaper; they are all so werry wenal, and Ovoid of
sentiment!"

BOB.
O! here's a harticle agin the fools,
Vich our poor British Nation so misrules:
And don't they show 'em up with all their tricks--
By gosh! I think they'd better cut their sticks;
They never can surwive such cuts as these is!

BRISKET.
It's werry well; but me it never pleases;
I never reads the news, and sees no merit
In anythink as breathes a party sperrit.

BOB.
Ain't you a hinglishman? and yet not feel
A hint'rest, Brisket, in the common-weal?

BRISKET.
The common-weal be--anything for me,--
There ain't no sentiment as I can see
In all the stuff these sons of--Britain prate--
They talk too much and do too little for the state.

BOB.
O! Brisket, I'm afeard as you're a 'Rad?'

BRISKET.
No, honour bright! for sin' I was a lad
I've stuck thro' thick and thin to Peel, or
Vellinton--for Tories is genteeler;
But I'm no politician. No! I read
These 'Tales of Love' vich tells of hearts as bleed,
And moonlight meetins in the field and grove,
And cross-grain'd pa's and wictims of true love;
Wirgins in white a-leaping out o' winders--
Vot some old codger cotches, and so hinders--
From j'ining her true-love to tie the knot,
Who broken-hearted dies upon the spot!

BOB.
That's werry fine!--but give me politics--
There's summat stirring even in the tricks
Of them vot's in to keep the t'others out,--
How I Should like to hear the fellers spout!
For some on 'em have sich a