so much like an author, Mr. BUMSTEAD, in having no overcoat,
wearing your paper collar upside down, and carrying a pen behind your
ear," Father DEAN is saying, "that I can almost fancy you are about to
write a book about us. Well, Bumsteadville is just the place to furnish
a nice, dry, inoffensive domestic novel in the sedative vein."

After two or three ineffectual efforts to seize the end of it, which he
seems to think is an inch or two higher than its actual position, Mr.
BUMSTEAD finally withdraws from between his right ear and head a long
and neatly cut hollow straw.

"This is not a pen, Holy Father," he answers, after a momentary glance
of majestic severity at Mr. SMYTHE, who has laughed. "It is only a
simple instrument which I use, as a species of syphon, in certain
chemical experiments with sliced tropical fruit and glass-ware. In the
precipitation of lemon-slices into cut crystal, it is necessary for the
liquid medium to be exhausted gradually; and, after using this cylinder
of straw for the purpose about an hour ago, I must have placed it behind
my ear in a moment of absent-mindedness."

"Ah, I see," said Father DEAN, although he didn't. "But what is this,
Judge SWEENEY, respecting your introduction of MCLAUGHLIN to Mr.
BUMSTEAD, which I have heard about?"

"Why, your Reverence, I consider JOHN MCLAUGHLIN a Character," responds
the Judge, "and thought our young friend of the organ-loft might like to
study him."

"The truth is," explains Mr. BUMSTEAD, "that Judge SWEENEY put into my
head to do a few pauper graves with JOHN MCLAUGHLIN, some moonlight
night, for the mere oddity and dampness of the thing.--And I should
regret to believe," added Mr. BUMSTEAD, raising his voice as saw that
the judiciary was about to interrupt--"And I should really be loathe to
believe that Judge SWEENEY was not perfectly sober when he did so."

"Oh, yes--certainly--I remember--to be sure," exclaims the Judge, in
great haste; alarmed into speedy assent by the construction which he
perceives would be put upon a denial. "I remember it very distinctly. I
remember putting it into your head--by the tumblerful, if I remember
rightly."

"Profiting by your advice," continues Mr. BUMSTEAD, oblivious to the
last sentence, I am going out to-night, in search of the moist and
picturesque, with JOHN MCLAUGHLIN--"

"Who is here," says Father DEAN.

OLD MORTARITY, dinner-kettle in hand and more mortary than ever, indeed
seen approaching t