,"
and when the question "Have you any ivory card cases?" was propounded,
he responded--

"Not any, mum;" glancing into the show-case, his visual orbs _lit_ upon
a profusion of well-known matters in domestic economy, for the
abrogation of certain parasitic insects.

"Haven't any card cases, mum,--_got some elegant ivory small-tooth
combs!_"

Have You Got Any Old Boots?

No slight portion of the ills that flesh is heir to, in a city life, is
the culinary item of rent day. Washing day has had its day--machines and
_fluid_ have made washing a matter of science and ease, and we are no
longer bearded by fuming and uncouth women in the sulks and suds, as of
yore, on the day set apart for renovating soiled dimities and dickeys.
Another and more important matter, from the extent of its obnoxiousness
to our nerves and temper, has come home to our very threshold and
hearths, to disturb the even tenor of our domestic quietude and peace.

"_Have you got any ole boots?_"

Boston lost a good citizen by those bell-pulling, gate-whacking,
back-door-pounding infernal collectors of time and care-worn _boots_.
The old boot gatherers were almost as diverting as novel to me, when I
first located in Boston; but I have long since learned to hate and abhor
them, and their co-laborers in the tin-pan, tape, tea-pot, willow work,
and white pine ware trade, with a most religious enthusiasm.

"_Have you got any ole boots?_"

How often--a hundred times at least, have I gone to the door and heard
this inquiry--ten times in one day, for I kept count of it, and used
enough "strong language" at each shutting--banging to of the door, to
last a "first officer" through a gale of wind.

"_Have you got any ole boots?_"

The idea of jumping up from your beef steak and coffee, or morning
paper--just as you had got into a deeply interesting bit of information
on "breadstuff's," California, or the Queen's last baby, to open your
door, and espy a grim-visaged and begrimed son of the Emerald Isle,
just rearing his phiz above the pyramid of ancient and defiled leather,
and meekly asking--

"_Have yez got any ole boots?_"

These _collectors_ are of course prepared for any amount of explosive
_gas_ you may shower down upon their uncombed crowns, as the cool and
perfectly-at-home manner they descend your steps to mount those of your
next-door neighbor plainly indicates. The "pedlers" and--

"_Have you got any ole boots?_"

Drove my respected