fine clothes, and warm beds, without doing anything harder
for them than picking the one, putting on the other, and sleeping on the
third;--but never mind that; what have you got there in your bundle, old
fellow?

_Flip._--Why, songs, Master Bruin; and you, who are fond of music, might
make mints of money by selling 'em, if you'd only choose to do it.

_Bruin_ (pricking up his ears).--Ah, Master Flip! and in what way?

_Flip._--Why, here are all the new songs that have been sung for the
last ten seasons by the Caterwaullic Society at their new Hall, and a
lot more besides, printed in half-a-dozen columns three times as long as
my tail, and all for a penny. Why, the very names of them are worth
double the money. I'm going to take this package to old Powtry the
bookseller, and, if you're in want of a job, I'll recommend you to him
as one of the venders.

[Illustration: CHEAP HARMONY.]

The proposal in Bruin's state of finance was not to be despised, for
since his forced retirement from business, he had found his stomach and
his pockets, by a very natural sympathy, suffering from precisely the
same complaint--a degree of emptiness, namely--which there seemed no
chance of finding a remedy for; but he had sundry doubts as to his
capabilities for the new employment he was about seeking, particularly
as he was aware his reputation was more notorious than favourable. To
his surprise, however, though his person was well known to the
individual Powtry, not the slightest objection seemed to be made on the
score of anything. The terms of his agreement, alas! not remarkably
liberal, were arranged; Bruin spent a couple of days in conning over his
task, and forgetting to thank the poor dog who had procured him his
situation, he once more entered the busy streets of Caneville to add his
bass voice to the other cries of that populous city. His appearance,
as he made his way into the centre of the most active thoroughfare,
holding in one paw his lists of songs--longer than most of the
inhabitants--whilst his other was thrust into his trowsers' pocket; the
impudent leer upon his face, as he surveyed his audience, and the
careless set of his clothes, which, big as he was, seemed a size too
capacious for him,--immediately attracted a crowd. A butcher's dog, who
had been ordered to make all speed to No. 10 in this same street with a
leg of mutton in his basket, stayed to gape and listen, although he was
standing opposite No. 9. A young