“You can go on,” he said.  “I won’t hurt you.  You’re too small potatoes for me.”

While this gentle raillery was in progress, Belinda felt somebody tugging at her dress.  She looked down, and saw Mr. Archibald BLINKSOP, a sailor-looking chap who smelt of tar, and well he might, for he had ploughed the tempestuous deep for upwards of six months, as a common sailor on the Erie Canal.

“Shiver my starboard binnacle amidships,” said he, “why don’t you choose me?"

She squeezed his hand and winked at him.

“I will choose you, dear,” said she.  “Don’t blush so.”

The game has commenced.

Jeffry MAULBOY, standing aloof, is just taking a fresh chew, when a hand is laid on his shoulder.

The hand is that of Ann Brummet, the poor relation, and the voice that breaks on his ear is also the property of that extraordinary woman.

“Jeff,” said she cautiously, “meet me in just half an hour, out back of the house.  You know the place.  Where the woodbine has twined so much.  I’ve got something very particular to tell you.”  And she pinched his arm slyly.

The game progresses.

The Hon. MICHAEL LADLE and ARCHIBALD BLINKSOP are conversing together.

“That MAULBOY is a jackass,” said the former.  “Is he a friend of your’n?”

“Well, not exactly,” returned ARCHIBALD.  “You see, it’s just like this,” he continued, hitching up his pants behind, and rolling, the same as sailors do on the stage.  “About two months ago JEFF made a voyage with me.  One night we were bowling along the canal under a very stiff breeze.  The compass stood north-east and a half, the thermometer was chafing fearfully, and the jib-boom, only two-thirds reefed was lashing furiously against the poop-deck.  Suddenly, that terrible cry, ’A man overboard!’ I lost no time.  I bore down on the taffrail threw the cook overboard, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing our noble craft lay over abaft the wind.  Then, quick as thought, I belayed the windlass and lowered a gaff.  It struck something soft.  I heard JEFF cry:  ’Don’t hit my head again.’  I was careful.  The gaff slid along his back, and finally settled firmly into the seat of his trousers.  He was hoisted aboard.  The first thing he did was to see if his tobacco was safe.  Then he offered me a chew and said:  ’Bless you, bless you; you have saved my life, and owe me a debt of gratitude forever.’  And I ’spose I do,” added ARCHIBALD.  “It’s the way of the world.”

“Well,” said the Hon. MICHAEL, “I don’t envy you.  I shouldn’t want to owe him a debt of any kind.”

“Why?” queried BLINKSOP.

“Because, sooner or later, you’ll have to pay it, double over,” was the reply.

(To be continued.)

* * * * *

From Gay to Grave.

Here is a suggestive item from abroad:—­