larrer got throwed, f'rimpudence to a gen'l'm'n," is the
peevish return of OLD MORTARITY, who immediately falls asleep as he
lies, with his lantern under his spine.

In his sleep, he dreams that BUMSTEAD examines him closely, with a view
to gaining some clue to the mystery of the light behind both their
backs; and, on finding the lantern under him, and, studying it
profoundly for some time, is suddenly moved to feel along his own back.
He dreams that BUMSTEAD thereupon finds his own lantern, and exclaims,
after half an hour's analytical reflection, "It musht'ave slid round
while JOHN MCLAUGHLIN was intosh'cated." Then, or soon after, the
dreamer awakes, and can discern two Mr. BUMSTEADS seated upon the
step-ladders, with a lantern, baby-like, on each knee.

"You two men are awake at last, eh?" say the organists, with peculiar
smiles.

"Yes, gentlemen," return the MCLAUGHLINS, with yawns.

They ascend silently from the cellar, each believing that he is
accompanied by two companions, and rendered moodily distrustful thereby.

"Aina maina mona--Mike.
Bassalone, bona--Strike!"

sings a small, familiar voice, when they stand again above ground, and a
stone whizzes between their heads.

In another moment BUMSTEAD has the fell SMALLEY by the collar, and is
shaking him like a yard of carpet.

"You wretched little tarrier!" he cries in a fury, "you've been spying
around to-night, to find out something about my Spiritualism that may be
distorted to injure my Ritualistic standing."

"I ain't done nothing; and you jest drop me, or I'll knock spots out of
yer!" carols the stony young child. "I jest come to have my aim at that
old Beat there."

"Attend to his case, then--his and his friend's, for he seems to have
some one with him--and never let me see you two boys again."

Thus Mr. BUMSTEAD, as he releases the excited lad, and turns from the
pauper burial-ground for a curious kind of pitching and running walk
homeward. The strange expedition is at an end:-but _which_ end he is
unable just then to decide.

(_To be Continued._)

* * * * *

[Illustration: CLERKS ALL AWAY ON A SATURDAY FROLIC, WHICH ACCOUNTS FOR
THE UNFORTUNATE POSITION OF THIS STOUT GENTLEMAN, WHO WAS LEFT ALONE TO
LOCK UP HIS STORE.]

* * * * *

[Illustration: PUNCHINELLO CORRESPONDENCE.]

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

_Johnny_.--Yes, you may offer your arm to your pretty cou