"Oh, nothin'," said Dan. "Full stomachs thinks there's no empty ones in the world; but may bad fortune stuff them top-boots chock full of corns, for your hard-heartedness, and may you never pull them on without gettin' a fresh stock." 

 "Dear me, dear me," said the squeaking tract-distributer, "read this, and see what comes of such irreligious observations." 

 "Read it yourself, ma'am," replied Dan, tossing back the proffered antidote, "maybe you may want it as bad as any of us." 

 "You have been iniquitously indulging in intoxicating beverages, sir," said Bulworthy. 

 "A drunkard!" exclaimed his helpmate. "I have a blessed tract or two peculiarly adapted to that abominable crime." 

 "Oh! no, no, not a drunkard," cried Peggy, snatching the tract from the hand of her visitor; "not a drunkard. The cares of poverty force him to try and forget them, and himself now and then, but that's all." 

 "All! that all! Oh, for the sinfulness that surrounds us," replied the other. 

 "Have you been drinking, sir?" demanded the Squire, in a justice-of-peace tone. 

 "What right have you to ax?" said Dan, boldly. "You owe me a shillin'; that's all I want." 

 "He has a right, depraved creature that you are," interposed the meek and Christian-like disseminator; "rich people always have a right to ask such questions of their poorer neighbors; but you don't deserve the care we take of your unhappy souls." 

 "Well, then, since it comes to that," said Dan, "I do taste a thrifle whin I can convayniently lay a hould of it; and, more betoken, it's a mighty bad rule that doesn't work both ways. I saw a lot of barrels and bottles goin' into the fine house over the way. I wonder if they wor intended for chimbly ornaments?" 

 "Come, my dear," said Bulworthy, now supremely indignant, "let us leave these degeneratious individuals to their incoherent reflections." 

 "I want my shillin'," shouted Dan. 

 "You shan't have it." 

 "But I'm hungry, and so is Peggy, and Pincher, and Pussy." 

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