nd he hails me from the next
street. He met me at the theatre the other evening, and demanded my
check with the air of a young foot-pad. I foolishly gave it to him,
but re-entering some time after, and comfortably seating myself in the
parquet, I was electrified by hearing my name called from the gallery
with the addition of a playful adjective. It was the vulgar little boy.
During the performance he projected spirally-twisted playbills in my
direction, and indulged in a running commentary on the supernumeraries
as they entered.

To-day has evidently been a dull one with him. I observe he whistles
the popular airs of the period with less shrillness and intensity.
Providence, however, looks not unkindly on him, and delivers into his
hands as it were two nice little boys who have at this moment innocently
strayed into our street. They are pink and white children, and are
dressed alike, and exhibit a certain air of neatness and refinement
which is alone sufficient to awaken the antagonism of the vulgar little
boy. A sigh of satisfaction breaks from his breast. What does he do? Any
other boy would content himself with simply knocking the hats off their
respective heads, and so vent his superfluous vitality in a single act,
besides precipitating the flight of the enemy. But there are aesthetic
considerations not to be overlooked; insult is to be added to the injury
inflicted, and in the struggles of the victim some justification is to
be sought for extreme measures. The two nice little boys perceive their
danger and draw closer to each other. The vulgar little boy begins
by irony. He affects to be overpowered by the magnificence of their
costume. He addresses me (across the street and through the closed
window), and requests information if there haply be a circus in the
vicinity. He makes affectionate inquiries after the health of their
parents. He expresses a fear of maternal anxiety in regard to their
welfare. He offers to conduct them home. One nice little boy feebly
retorts; but alas! his correct pronunciation; his grammatical
exactitude, and his moderate epithets only provoke a scream of derision
from the vulgar little boy, who now rapidly changes his tactics.
Staggering under the weight of his vituperation, they fall easy victims
to what he would call his "dexter mawley." A wail of lamentation goes up
from our street. But as the subject of this article seems to require
a more vigorous handling than I had purposed to gi