O!  Dick!

Such a misfortin’ has you never heard on as come upon your friend.  I’ll jist give you a breef houtline of the circumstantials as near as my flurry vill let me.  T’other mornin’ I vips up my gun for to go a-shootin’, and packin’ up my hammunition, and some sanwidges, I bids adoo to this wile smoky town, vith the intention of gettin’ a little hair.  Vell! on I goes a-visshin’ and thinkin’ on nothin’, and happy as the bumblebees as vos a-numming around me.  Vell! a’ter an hour or more’s valking, not an house nor a brick vos wisible.

Natur’, in all her werdur’, vos smilin’ like a fat babby in its maternal harms!  But, as somebody has it—­

“Man never ain’t, but al’ays to be bless’d,”

and I’m bless’d if that ain’t true too, as you shall see presently.  Vell!  I pops at von bird and then at another; but vether the poor creturs vos unaccustom’d to guns, and so vos frighten’d, I don’t know, but somehow I couldn’t hit ’em no-how.

Vell! and so I vos jist a-chargin’ agin ven a great he-fellow, in a ruff coat and partic’lar large viskers, accostes me (ciwilly I must say, but rayther familler)—­

“Birds shy?” says he.

“Werry;—­ain’t hit nothin’,” says I.

“I’ll tell you vot it is, young gentleman,” says he, “it’s the unevenness o’ the ground!”

“D’ve think so?” says I.

“Sure on it,” says he; “I’m a hold sojer!  Know this ’ere place, and have picked up many a good dinner in it.  Look at them fe’l’fares yonder,” says he, “on’y let me have a slap at ’em for you, and see if I don’t finish some on ’em in the twinkling of a pig’s visper.”

In course I felt obleeged by sich a hoffer, and hands him the gun.  Vell!  I vos a-follerin’ him quite pleased, ven he visks round, and puttin’ the muzzle o’ the hinstrument fist agin my vescoat, says he, “Now you’ve lent us your gun, you may as vell lend us your votch.  I can’t shoot any think for you till I sees vot’s o’clock!”

Here vas a go!—­but I see vot vas a clock in a hinstant—­and no mistake.  So I cotch’d hold on the two butiful chased seals and tugs it out.

“That’s the time o’ day!” says he, a-cockin’ his hugly heye at the dial; “and now,” says he, “as you seems frightened at the gun, I shall jist put it out o’ harm’s way.”

And with that he chucks it splash, into a duck-pond, and hoff marches my hold sojer in a jiffy!  I vos putrified! and fell to a-blubberin’ like a hinfant.

O!  Dick, vot’s to be done?

You know I ham, at any rate,

Yours truly,

S. Softly.

SCENE XX.

The Courtship of Mr. Wiggins.

Among the very few fashionable foibles to which Mr. Wiggins was addicted, was the smoking of cigars.  Attracted by the appearance of a small box marked ‘Marylands—­one penny each,’ very much resembling lettuce-leaves with the yellow jaundice, he walked into the chandler’s shop where they were displayed.