ith a grand
blue-fire _tableaux_. The room resembles the Black Hole of
Calcutta!--Hundreds of little itching fingers are longing to be amongst
that pound of raisins, in spirits--all eager, as imps, for the fiendish
sport; the darkness and suspense rendering it very exciting--causing
Master Jewel (a model boy), who is "wanted directly," to make no answer
from the sable mass; until, the summons being repeated, he says
something that sounds very like "shan't come!"--and, Master Jewel does
not come, until he has had his portion of the fiery food that is flying
about in every direction.

[Illustration: MASTER MERRY AS HE APPEARED WHEN HE WAS "FETCHED"!!!]

[Illustration]

[Illustration: END OF JUVENILE PARTY.
MASTER BROWN FEELS AS IF HE HAD HAD A GOOD MANY GOOD THINGS.]

During the last hour Cook and John have held a _soiree_ below, to all
the neighbouring domestics, who are awaiting to escort home their little
masters and mistresses--they are regaling upon ale and sandwiches, in
the servants' hall; whilst that most interesting topic, "every body's
business," is being discussed:--Mrs. Pest's maid assuring all, upon her
sacred word and honour, that Mrs. Pest is not a angel, or the
"Pest-house" a paradise, though it may look pretty over the garden-wall;
and, moreover, Mrs. P.'s maid said she were of opinion the public knowed
it, too; for t'other night some one painted out the fust letters, ag'in
our door-post--making the direction, at the corner of the lane, "Placid
Vale," read "_acid ale_" instead,--no compliment, as the maid said, to
Mr. "Pest, Pewter, and Co.'s Entire;"--at the same time observing, that
it sarved 'em right! And, "as I hope, afore next Heaster, to lose my
blessed Virgin Mary name, I'd go--if it wer'n't for the pale-ale-tory
circumstances, I'd warn Missus! It was only yesterday, jist arter Mr.
Pest had gone to Brewhus, in Liquorish St., that we had a scrimmage
about flounces; and jist as I was a-going to fling my resignation at
her--'tending to go out every evenin', till the month was up, in a gound
zactly like Missus' own (lilock, with seven flounces)--well, jist when I
was on the pint o' naming the word, I think'd o' little Ned Pest; and,
as I loved the dear little fellow more than a paltry frock,
I con'scended to stay!" Here the gardening-groom at the "Snuggery,"
opposite, grinned and winked horribly, observing something about little
Ned's being a "surfeit of finery"--finery that had to be show