Levi Smith, expects something (Lev brightens up, old
Williams grins!)--he has hung around me for a long time, expecting it
(Lev's jaw falls), I do hereby freely forgive him his six years boarding
and lodging, and, furthermore, make him a present of my two old negroes,
Ben and Dinah."

"The--the--the--cussed old screw," bawls old Williams.

"The infernal, double and twisted, mean, contemptible, miserable old
scoundrel!" cries poor Lev, foaming with virtuous indignation, and
swinging his doubled up fists.

"And you--you--you cussed, do-less, good for nothing, hypocritical
skunk, you," yells old Williams, shaking his bony fingers in poor Lev's
face, the neighbors grinning from ear to ear, "to humbug me, my wife, my
Polly, in this yer way. Now clear yourself--take them old niggers, don't
leave 'em here for the crows to eat--clear yourself!"

Lev Smith sneaks off like a kill-sheep dog, leaving old Ben and Dinah to
the tender mercies of a quite miserable and equally wretched
neighborhood. Polly Williams didn't "take on" much about the matter, but
in the course of a few weeks took another venture in love's lottery,
and--was married. Poor Lev Smith returned to the scenes of his
childhood, a wiser and a poorer man.

The Troubles of a Mover.

"Mr. Flash in?"

"Mr. Flash? Don't know any such person, my son."

"Why, he lives here!" continued the boy.

"Guess not, my son; I live here."

"Well, this is the house, for I brought the things here."

"What things?" says our friend, Flannigan.

"Why, the door mat, the brooms, buckets and brushes," says little
breeches.

Flannigan looks vacantly at his own door mat, for a minute, then says
he--

"Come in my man, I'll see if any such articles have come here, for us."

The boy walks into the hall, amid the barricades of yet unplaced
household effects--for Flannigan had just moved in--and Flannigan calls
for Mrs. F. The lady appears and denies all knowledge of any such
purchases, or reception of buckets, brooms, and little breeches clears
out.

In the course of an hour, a violent jerk at the bell announces another
customer. Flannigan being at work in the parlor, answers the call; he
opens the door, and there stands "a greasy citizen."

"Goo' mornin'. Mr. Flash in?"

"Mr. Flash? I don't know him, sir."

"You don't?" says the "greasy citizen." "He lives here, got this bill
agin him, thirty-four dollars, ten cents, per-visions."

"I live here, sir; my name's Fla