The Humors of Falconbridge Part 42

A Juvenile Joe Miller.

We observed a small transaction last Wednesday noon, on Hanover street, that wasn't so coa.r.s.e for an urchin hardly out of his swaddling clouts.

He was a cunning-looking little fellow, and poking his head into a shoe shop, he bawls out in a very keen, fine, silvery voice--

"S-a-a-y, Mister-r-r--"

"Eh?--what?" says the shop-keeper.

"Somebody's got your boots out here!"

Supposing, of course, that somebody was pegging away with a bunch of his _wares_ at the door, Lapstone rushes out and cries--

"Where?"

"There," says the shaver; "they're there--somebody's got 'em--hung up 'long your window there."

Lapstone seized a box lid to give the juvenile joker a flip, but he scooted, grinning and ha! ha!-ing in the most provoking strain.

"Selling" a Landlord.

During the great gathering of people in Quakerdom, while the Whigs were dovetailing in Old Zack, an artful dodger, a queer quizzing Boston friend of mine, thought a little _side play_ wouldn't be out of the way, so to work he goes to get up a muss, and I'll tell you how he managed it, nice as wax.

Among the Boston delegates--self-const.i.tuted, _a la_ Gen. Commander--was a certain gentleman, remarkable for his probity, decorum, and extreme sensitiveness. Well, A., the _wag_, and B., the _victim_, landed together, but selected, in the general overflow and hurly-burly, different lodgings. Next morning, A. finds B. stowed away in ----'s Hotel, fine as a fiddle, snug as a bug, in a good room, and doing about _as_ well as could be expected. A. had had indifferent luck, and the quarters he had lit upon were any thing but comfortable, the inmates of the Hotel being stowed away in _tiers_, like herrings in a box. A.

thought he'd _oust_ his innocent and unsuspecting friend, and crack his joke, if it cost a law suit, just for the sake of variety.

With the _address_, and _partly the_ dress--a white hat--of a man of the _mace_, A. steps up to the bar of ----'s Hotel, and after carefully scrutinizing the register, finds the autograph of the victim, then smiles suspiciously, enough to say to the observant bar-keeper--

"Aha! I've found him!" Then leaning cautiously forward towards that person, says A.--

"Is this man here yet? Is he in the house?"

"I b'leave he is, sur,--I know he is, sur," says the Milesian, overlooking the register himself.

"Come here last night?" continues A., in his suspicious strain.

"He did, sur!" answers the grog-mixer.

"Has nothing but a valise and umbrella?" says A.

"Nothing else, sur, I believe," is the reply.

"That's him! that's him! I've found him!" exultantly exclaims A., while the bar-keeper and landlord, who had now come forward, eagerly wanted to know if any thing was wrong with the gentleman whose arrival was being discussed.

"Step aside, sir," says A. to the proprietor; "I don't want any disturbance made, at such a time; it might do your fine establishment more harm than good; _but_, there is a person stopping in your house that I have followed from Boston; I have kept my eye on his movements(!); I know his designs, his practices, _well_; I'm on his track--he dodged me last night, but I've found him--"

"Well, do you pretend to a.s.sert that this man (scrutinizing the register) is a pick-pocket, a thief, or something of the kind, sir?"

earnestly inquired the proprietor.

"You keep _mum_, sir," said A., coolly tapping the lappel of the landlord's coat--"I've got him _safe!_ Let him rest for awhile--I've got him! Do you understand?" says the wag, winking a knowing, significant _wink_ at the landlord.

"No, cuss me if I do understand you, sir!" sharply replies the landlord.

"If there is a dangerous or disreputable person in my house, sir, I would thank you to tell me, sir, and I will soon put him where the dogs won't bite him, sir!"

"There is no use of unnecessary alarm, my friend," says A., in a low tone; "the truth is, this person whom I have followed here, has made a heavy _draw_ on one of our Boston banks, by means of certain checks and certificates, and--"

"Oho! That's it, eh?" interposes the landlord, beginning to see his guest in a more _dignified_ light, that of a splendid thief; so his rigid frown, called in play by the supposition that a petty rascal was on his premises, subsided into a wise smile, which A. interrupts with--

"You've hit it; but keep quiet! Don't let us go too _far_ before we're sure the bird is in our cage. He's worth attending to; I'm not sure he's _got_ the abstracted money about him; but when he settles with you, just notice the size of his wallet, and its contents; may have an officer handy, if you like. If he has a large roll of notes, especially on the Traders' Bank, nab him, and keep him until I come," said A.

"Where do you stop, sir?" inquired the landlord.

"At the ----, Chestnut street," A. replies.

"Shall be attended to, sir, I warrant you. Is there a reward out, sir, for this person?" says the landlord.

"O! no; it has all been kept quiet. _Policy_, you see; he left in such a hurry, he thought he'd be lost sight of in this crowd here in your city.

If he has the money, we'll make 'a spec,' you understand?"

"I see, I see," said the befogged landlord; "I'll keep a sharp look out for him, and let you know the moment I find him fairly out."

That afternoon, as B. called for his bill at the bar of ----'s Hotel, the landlord was _about_, all in a _twitter_, with two policemen in the distance, and sundry especial friends hanging about, to whom the landlord had unbosomed the affair. All were anxiously watching the result of the business. B. hands forth his capacious wallet, stuffed with "_doc.u.ments_" of the Traders' Bank, of Boston,--from which inst.i.tution he had _drawn_ a pile of funds, to invest in coal at Richmond,--and no sooner did B. place an X, of the Traders' Bank, upon the bar, than the excited landlord's eyes danced like shot on a hot shovel, and giving the constables the _cue_, poor B. found himself _waited upon_, in a brace of shakes, by those two custodians, while the landlord grabbed the wallet out of B.'s hand, with a suddenness that completely mesmerized him.

"Gentlemen," says the landlord to the officers, "do your duty!"

"Why, look here!" says B., squirming about in the grasp of the officers, and reaching over for the landlord and his wallet--"what the thunder are you about? Come, I say, none of your darn'd nonsense now; let me go, I tell you, and hand back that wallet, Mister ----."

But B. was "a goner." They favored him with no explanation, of course, and were about trotting him forth to the Mayor's office, when a well known Anthracite merchant came in, in quest of B. Some inquiry followed, explanation ensued, and the result was, that after poor B. got a little reconciled to the _joke_, he joined issue with a laughing chorus at the expense of the _sold_ landlord, who, in consideration of all hands keeping _mum_, put the party through a course of juleps.

I may as well observe, that I regret there is no particular _moral_ to this sketch.

Scientific Labor.

"Bob, what yer doing now?"

"Aiding Nat'ral History."

"Aiding Nat'ral History--what do yer mean by that?"

"Why every time the kangaroo jumps over the monkey, I hold his tail up."