I haven't got my dog yet. I don't want him either. I don't care if I never see another dog between this and the

silent grave.

ANONYMOUS.

CHEAP JACKS AND DEAR JACKS.

.

I am a Cheap Jack. Now I'll tell you what. I mean to go down into my grave declaring that, of all the callings ill-used in Great Britain, the Cheap Jack calling is the worst used. Why ain't we a profession? Why ain't we endowed with privileges? Why are we forced to take out a hawker's license, when no such thing is expected of the political hawkers? Where's the difference betwixt us? Except that we are Cheap Jacks and they are Dear Jacks, I don't see any difference but what's in our favour.

For look here! Say it's election-time. I am on the footboard of my cart in the market-place on a Saturday night. I put up a general miscellaneous lot. I say: "Now here, my free and independent woters, I'm a going to give you such a chance as you never had in all your born days, nor yet the days preceding. Now I'll show you what I am a going to do with you. Here's a pair of razors that'll shave you closer than the Board of Guardians; here's a flat-iron worth its weight in gold; here's a frying-pan artificially flavoured with essence of beef-steaks to that degree that you've only got for the rest of your lives to fry bread and dripping in it, and there you are replete with animal food; here's a genuine chronometer watch in such a solid silver case that you may knock at the door with it when you come home late from a social meeting, and rouse your wife and family, and save up your knocker for the postman; and here's half-a-dozen dinner plates that you may play the cymbals with to charm the baby when it's fractious. Stop. I'll throw you in another article,

and I'll give you that, and it's a rolling-pin, and if the baby can only get it well into its mouth when its teeth is coming, and rub the gums once with it, they'll come through double, in a fit of laughter equal to being tickled. Stop again! I'll throw you in another article, because I don't like the looks of you, for you haven't the appearance of buyers unless I lose by you, and because I'd rather lose than not take money tonight, and that article's a looking-glass in which you may see how ugly you look when you don't bid. What do you say now? Come! Do you say a pound? Not you, for you haven't got it. Do you say ten shillings? Not you, for you owe more to the tally-man. Well, then, I'll tell you what I'll do with you. I'll heap 'em all on the foot-board of the cartthere they are! razors, flat-iron, frying-pan, chronometer watch, dinner plates, rolling-pin, and looking-glass,—take 'em all away for four shillings, and I'll give you sixpence for your trouble!" This is me, the Cheap Jack.

66

But on the Monday morning, in the same market-place, comes the Dear Jack on the hustings,―his cart,—and what does he say? "Now, my free and independent woters, I am a going to give you such a chance" (he begins just like me) as you never had in all your born days, and that's the chance of sending myself to Parliament. Now I'll tell you what I am a going to do for you. Here's the interests of this magnificent town promoted above all the rest of the civilised and uncivilised earth. Here's your railways carried, and your neighbours' railways jockeyed. Here's all your sons in the Post Office. Here's Brittania smiling on you. Here's the eyes of Europe on you. Here's universal prosperity for you, repletion of animal food, golden corn-fields, gladsome homesteads, and rounds of applause from your own hearts, all in one lot, and that's myself. Will you take me as I stand? You won't? Well, then, I'll tell you what I'll do with you. Come now! I'll throw you in anything you ask

for. There! Church-rates, abolition of church-rates, more malt-tax, no malt-tax, uniwersal education to the highest mark, or uniwersal ignorance to the lowest, total abolition of flogging in the army, or a dozen for every private once a month all round, Wrongs of Men, or Rights of Women,only say which it shall be, take 'em or leave 'em, and I'm of your opinion altogether, and the lot's your own on your own terms. There! You won't take it yet? Well, then, I'll tell you what I'll do with you. Come! You are such free and independent woters, and I am so proud of you,—you are such a noble and enlightened constituency, and I am so ambitious of the honour and dignity of being your member, which is by far the highest level to which the wings of the human mind can soar,-that I'll tell you what I'll do with you. I'll throw you in all the public-houses in your magnificent town for nothing. Will that content you? It won't? You won't take the lot yet? Well, then, before I put the horse in and drive away, and make the offer to the next most magnificent town that can be discovered, I'll tell you what I'll do. Take the lot, and I'll drop two thousand pound in the streets of your magnificent town for them to pick up that can. Not enough? Now look here. This is the very furthest that I'm a going to. I'll make it two thousand five hundred. And still you won't? Here, missis! Put the horse- -No, stop half-a-moment. I shouldn't like to turn my back upon you, neither, for a trifle. I'll make it two thousand seven hundred and fifty pound. There! Take the lot on your own terms, and I'll count out two thousand seven hundred and fifty pound on the foot-board of the cart, to be dropped in the streets of your magnificent town for them to pick up that can. What do you say? Come now! You won't do better, and you may do worse. You take it! Hooray! Sold again, and got the seat!"

CHARLES DICKENS.

[By kind permission of Messrs. Chapman and Hall.]

MRS. MAYTON INTERVIEWED.

The course of Budge's interview with Mrs. Mayton was related by that lady, as follows:

She was sitting in her own room (which was on the parlour-floor, and in the rere of the house), and was leisurely reading "Fated to be Free," when she accidently dropped her glasses. Stooping to pick them up, she became aware that she was not alone. A small, very dirty, but good-featured boy stood before her, his hands behind his back, and an inquiring look in his eyes.

"Don't you know it

"Run away, little boy," said she. isn't polite to enter rooms without knocking?"

"I'm looking for my uncle," in most melodious accents, "an' the other ladies said you would know when he would come back."

"I'm afraid they were making fun of you-or me,” said the old lady, a little severely. "I don't know anything about little boys' uncles. Now run away, and don't disturb me any more."

"Well," continued Budge, "they said your little girl went with him, and you'd know when she would come back."

"I haven't any little girl," said the old lady, her indignation at a supposed joke threatening to overcome her dignity. "Now, go away."

"She isn't a very little girl," said Budge, honestly anxious to conciliate; "that is, she's bigger'n I am, but they said you was her mother, an' so she's your little girl, isn't she? I think she's lovely, too."

"Do you mean Miss Mayton?" asked the lady, thinking she had a possible clue to the cause of Budge's anxiety.

"Oh, yes-that's her name—I couldn't think of it," eagerly replied Budge. "An' ain't she AWFUL nice?—I know she is!"

"Your judgment is quite correct, considering your age," said Mrs. Mayton, exhibiting more interest in Budge than she had heretofore done. "But what makes you think she is nice? You are rather younger than her male admirers usually are." "Why, my Uncle Harry told me so,” replied Budge, "an' he knows everything."

Mrs. Mayton grew vigilant at once, and dropped her book. "Who is your Uncle Harry, little boy?"

"He's Uncle Harry; don't you know him? He can make nicer whistles than my papa can. An' he found a turtle”"Who is your papa?" interrupted the old lady.

"Why, he's papa-I thought everybody knew who he was."

"What is your name?" asked Mrs. Mayton.

"John Burton Lawrence," promptly answered Budge. Mrs. Mayton wrinkled her brows for a moment, and finally asked:

"Is Mr. Burton the uncle you are looking for?"

"I don't know any Mr. Burton," said Budge, a little dazed; "uncle is mamma's brother, an' he's been livin' at our house ever since mamma an' papa went off visitin', an' he goes ridin' in our carriage, an'

"Humph!" remarked the lady, with so much emphasis that Budge ceased talking. A moment later she said:

"I didn't mean to interrupt you, little boy; go on." "-An' he rides with just the loveliest lady that ever was. He thinks so, an' I KNOW she is. An' he 'spects her." "What?" exclaimed the old lady.

"Spects her, I say-that's what he says. I say 'spect means just what I call love. Cos if it don't, what makes him give her hugs an' kisses?"

Mrs. Mayton caught her breath, and did not reply for a moment. At last she said:

"How do you know he-gives her hugs and kisses?"