that
packet!--pretty darling--easy with that box, Sir, its glass--pooooty
poppet--where's the deal case, marked arrowroot, No. 24?' she cried,
reading out of a list she had.--And poor little James went to sleep.
The porters were bundling and carting the various harticles with no more
ceremony than if each package had been of cannonball.

"At last--bang goes a package marked 'Glass,' and containing the Chayny
bowl and Lady Bareacres' mixture, into a large white bandbox, with a
crash and a smash. 'It's My Lady's box from Crinoline's!' cries Mary
Hann; and she puts down the child on the bench, and rushes forward to
inspect the dammidge. You could hear the Chayny bowls clinking inside;
and Lady B.'s mixture (which had the igsack smell of cherry brandy) was
dribbling out over the smashed bandbox containing a white child's cloak,
trimmed with Blown lace and lined with white satting.

"As James was asleep, and I was by this time uncommon hungry, I thought
I WOULD go into the Refreshment Room and just take a little soup; so
I wrapped him up in his cloak and laid him by his mamma, and went off.
There's not near such good attendance as at Swindon.

*****

"We took our places in the carriage in the dark, both of us covered with
a pile of packages, and Mary Hann so sulky that she would not speak for
some minutes. At last she spoke out--

"'Have you all the small parcels?'

"'Twenty-three in all,' says I.

"'Then give me baby.'

"'Give you what?' says I.

"'Give me baby.'

"'What, haven't y-y-yoooo got him?' says I.

*****

"O Mussy! You should have heard her sreak! WE'D LEFT HIM ON THE LEDGE AT
GLOSTER.

"It all came of the break of gage."

MR. JEAMES AGAIN.

"DEAR MR. PUNCH,--As newmarus inquiries have been maid both at my privit
ressddence, 'The Wheel of Fortune Otel,' and at your Hoffis,
regarding the fate of that dear babby, James Hangelo, whose primmiture
dissappearnts caused such hagnies to his distracted parents, I must
begg, dear sir, the permission to ockupy a part of your valuble collams
once more, and hease the public mind about my blessid boy.

"Wictims of that nashnal cuss, the Broken Gage, me and Mrs. Plush was
left in the train to Cheltenham, soughring from that most disgreeble of
complaints, a halmost BROKEN ART. The skreems of Mrs. Jeames might be
said almost to out-Y the squeel of the dying, as we rusht into that
fashnable Spaw, and my pore Mary Hann found it was not Baby, but Bundles