the bottom to see that it
was sound--did the same with the saucepan--looked at the knives
narrowly, and still closer at the fork--then ranged them before him on
the table.

"For dis," said he, laying his hand on the tea-kettle, "we will say one
pound of rice; for dis (the saucepan) two pounds of corned beef; for de
knives, a bottle of rum; and for de fork, six ounces of the best tea."

"Curse your tea!" said Mr Bags.

"Yes!" said Mrs Bags, who had with difficulty restrained herself during
the process of valuation, "we doesn't want no tea. And the things is
worth a much more than what you say: the saucepan's as good as new, and
the fork's silver--"

"Plated," said the Jew, weighing it across his finger.

"A many years," said Mrs Bags, "have I lived in gentlemen's families,
and well do I know plate from silver. I've lived with Mrs Milson of
Pidding Hill, where everything was silver, and nothing plated, even to
the handles of the doors; and a dear good lady she was to me; many's the
gown she give me. And I've lived with--"

Here the Jew unceremoniously interrupted the train of her recollections
by pushing the things from before him. "Take what I offer, or else take
your things away," said he, shortly.

Mr and Mrs Bags grumbled considerably. The tea they positively refused
at any price: Mr Bags didn't like it, and Mrs Bags said it disagreed
with her. So the Jew agreed to give them instead another bottle of rum,
a pound of onions, and two pounds of beef; and with these terms they at
length closed, and departed with the results of their barter.

During the altercation, a soldier of another regiment had entered, and
stood silently awaiting his turn to be attended to. He was a gaunt man,
with want written legibly in the hollows of his face and the dismal
eagerness of his eye. He now came forward, and with trembling hands
unfolded an old gown, and handed it to the Jew.

"'Tis no good to me," said the latter, giving it back, after holding it
against the light; "nothing but holes."

"But my wife has no other," said the man: "'tis her last stitch of
clothes, except her petticoat and a blanket. I've brought everything
else to you."

The Jew shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands, in token that
he could not help it.

"I swear 'tis her last!" reiterated the man, as if he really fancied
this fact must give the garment as much value in the Jew's eyes as in
his own.

"I tell you I won't have it!" said the Jew, t