ing, ducky,' suggested my wife.

"'O, no, dearest, bread pudding. I was always fond of 'em.'

"'Call them bread pudding!' exclaimed my wife, while her lips slightly
curled with contempt.

"'Certainly, my dear--reckon I've had enough at the Sherwood House, to
know bread pudding, my love, by all means.'

"'Husband--this is really too bad--plum pudding is twice as hard to make
as bread pudding, and is more expensive, and is a great deal better. I
say this is plum pudding, sir!' and my pretty wife's brow flushed with
excitement.

"'My love, my sweet, my dear love,' exclaimed we soothingly, 'do not get
angry. I am sure it is very good, if it is bread pudding.'

"'You mean, low wretch,' fiercely replied my wife, in a higher tone,
'you know it's plum pudding.'

"'Then, ma'am, it's so meanly put together and so badly burned, that the
devil himself wouldn't know it. I tell you, madam, most distinctly and
emphatically, that it is bread pudding and the meanest kind at that.'

"'It is plum pudding,' shrieked my wife, as she hurled a glass of claret
in my face, the glass itself tapping the claret from my nose.

"'Bread pudding!' gasped we, pluck to the last, and grasped a roasted
chicken by the left leg.

"'Plum pudding!' rose above the din, as I had a distinct perception of
feeling two plates smashed across my head.

"'Bread pudding!' we groaned in a rage, as the chicken left our hand and
flying with swift wing across the table landed in madam's bosom.

"'Plum pudding!' resounded the war-cry from the enemy, as the gravy-dish
took us where we had been depositing a part of our dinner, and a plate
of beets landed upon our white vest.

"'Bread pudding forever!' shouted we in defiance, dodging the soup
tureen, and falling beneath its contents.

"'Plum pudding!' yelled the amiable spouse; noticing our misfortune, she
determined to keep us down by piling upon our head the dishes with no
gentle hand. Then in rapid succession, followed the war-cries. 'Plum
pudding!' she shrieked with every dish.

"'Bread pudding,' in smothered tones, came up from the pile in reply.
Then it was 'plum pudding,' in rapid succession, the last cry growing
feebler, till just as I can distinctly recollect, it had grown to a
whisper. 'Plum pudding' resounded like thunder, followed by a tremendous
crash as my wife leaped upon the pile with her delicate feet, and
commenced jumping up and down, when, thank heaven! we awoke, and thus
saved our life. W