"Take care of them! Take care of them! I believe I'm bitten clear
through my boot--catch them, Mr. Swallow!" cries the deacon.

"Swallow 'em, Mr. Catcher!" echoes the frightened dandy.

"What? where?" says the excited conductor, looking around.

"Here, here, in under these seats, sir,--_my lobsters, sir_," says the
deacon, standing aloof to let the conductor and the man with the cane
get at the _reptiles_, as the latter insisted.

"Darn 'em, are they only lobsters!"

"Pooh! Lobsters!" says young Mantillini, with a mock heroic shrug of his
shoulders, and looking fierce as two cents!

"Come out here!" says the conductor, feeling for them.

"Take care!" says the deacon, "the plaguy things have got their pins
out!"

"Why, they are _alive_, and crawling around; hear the old fellow,--take
care, Mr. Swaller--he's cross as sin!" says the man with the
cane--"wasn't that a _snap_? Take care! You got him?" that indefatigable
assistant continued, rattling his tongue and cane.

"I've got them!" cries the conductor.

"Put them in the bag, here, sir," says the deacon.

"Take them out of this car!" cries everybody.

"Plaguy things," says the deacon. "I sha'n't never buy another _live
lobster!_"

Order was restored, passengers took their seats, but when young
Mantillini looked for his dog, he had vamosed with the _Irishman_, at
"the last stopping place," in his excitement, leaving a quart jug of
whiskey in lieu of the dandy's dog.

The Fitzfaddles at Hull.

"Well, well, drum no more about it, for mercy's sake; if you must go,
you must _go_, that's all."

"Yes, just like you, Fitzfaddle"--pettishly reiterates the lady of the
middle-aged man of business; "mention any thing that would be gratifying
to the children--"

"The children--_umph!_"

"Yes, the children; only mention taking the dear, tied-up souls to,
to--to the Springs--"

"_Haven't_ they been to Saratoga? _Didn't_ I spend a month of my
precious time and a thousand of my precious dollars there, four years
ago, to be physicked, cheated, robbed, worried, starved, and--laughed
at?" Fitzfaddle responds.

"Or, to the sea-side--" continued the lady.

"Sea-side! good conscience!" exclaims Fitzfaddle; "my dear Sook--"

"Don't call me _Sook_, Fitzfaddle; _Sook!_ I'm not _in_ the kitchen, nor
_of_ the kitchen, you'll please remember, Fitzfaddle!" said the lady,
with evident feeling.

"O," echoed Fitz, "God bless me, Mrs. Fitzfaddle, don't be so rabid