or tomaterses.

Did I lave for that? Faix, an' I didn't. Didn't he get me into
trouble wid my missus, the haythen! Ye're aware yerself how the
boondles comin' in from the grocery often contains more'n'll go into
anything dacently. So, for that matter, I'd now and then take out a
sup o' sugar, or flour, or tay, an' wrap it in paper, and put it in
me bit of a box tucked under the ironin'-blanket, the how it cuddent
be bodderin' any one. Well, what shud it be, but this blessed
Sathurday morn, the missus was a-spakin' pleasant an' respec'ful wid
me in me kitchen, when the grocer boy comes in, and stands fornenst
her wid his boondles; and she motions like to Fing Wing (which I
never would call him by that name or any other but just haythen)--she
motions to him, she does, for to take the boondles, an' emty out the
sugar and what not where they belongs. If ye'll belave me, Ann Ryan,
what did that blatherin' Chineser do but take out a sup of sugar, an'
a han'ful o' tay, an' a bit o' chaze, right afore the missus, wrap,
'em into bits o' paper, an' I spacheless wid shurprise, an' he the
next minute up wid the ironin'-blanket, an' pullin' out me box wid a
show o' bein sly to put them in. Och! the Lord forgive me, but I
clutched it, an' missus sayin' "O Kitty!" in a way that 'ud cruddle
yer blood. "He's a haythen nager," says I. "I've found yer out," says
she, "I'll arrist him," says I. "It's yerself ought to be arristid,"
says she. "Yer won't," says I, "I will," says she. And so it went,
till she give me such sass as I cuddent take from no lady, an' I give
her warnin' an' left that instant, an' she a-pointin' to the
doore.
--_Theophilus and Others_.

THE HEATHEN CHINEE.

BY BRET HARTE.

_PLAIN LANGUAGE FROM TRUTHFUL JAMES (TABLE MOUNTAIN, 1870)_.

Which I wish to remark,
And my language is plain,
That for ways that are dark
And for tricks that are vain
The heathen Chinee is peculiar,
Which the same I would rise to explain.

Ah Sin was his name!
And I shall not deny,
In regard to the same,
What that name might imply;
But his smile it was pensive and childlike,
As I frequent remarked to Bill Nye.

It was August the third,
And quite soft was the skies;
Whi