information to the dead king of his son's deeds,
even when he may only have invented a new
drum or received a white man's visit, the yearly
sacrifices, he thinks, are altogether not less than
five hundred.

LUFKIN ON DAVINGPODGE.

WHEN me and Mrs. Lufkin left Hogsmead for
a week's outing, we had no intentions of
intruding into any other spear than that in which
we was hitherto placed. But, as luck would
have it, who should we meet at the "Farmers'
Cheerful Encounter," Aldersgate-street, but my
wife's cousin, that wild Tom Bowsicold, who we
thought was in America!

Tom told us, just— dear fellow— in his hold
hoverbearing way, that when Mrs. L. and me
had done the Sowhological and the Polly Ticnic,
there wur but two more things for to be witnessed
in London, one being a lady over the water what,
every evening at nine o'clock, rode— pursued by
a wultur and a squib— upon a fiery huntameable
steed (that had been in training for the same for
three years), in a manner not for to be often
noticed in Rotting-Row. Moreover, seeing that
the lady's manty-maker every day made a pint
of forgetting to bring home any other riding-
habit than a narrer waistband— the interest daily
increased, and the house was beseeghed by
multitudes who had scruples against what Tom
called the "regular " drama.

As Mrs. Lufkin, in language rayther stronger
than I should perhaps put up with, except on
an outing, refused to have anything to do with
that lady, Tom informed us that the alternative
was "Sperrets."

Real sperrets. Tom Bowsicold had known
them, in America, fifteen year ago, and could
answer for their respectability. It seemed that
there lately come over two excellent and worthy
gentlemen by the name of Davingpodge, what
lived in a complete hatmosphere of sperrets,
and found them so difficult to manage, that they
was always accompanied by three or four
other gentlemen, for to help. No sooner had
they arrived, than Tom Bowsicold (poor fellow,
he is for ever taking care of other people's
interests and neglecting of his own!) called upon
the Mrs. Davingpodge, introduced them to his
friends, and wrote to all the papers, except the
Hogsmead Weekly Scrutineer, that they was
"come." Some put in Tom's letter, some didn't,
but Tom's object was gained, and the name of
Davingpodge was formiliar in society as a very
favourite subject for disagreeing about.

"Wheer was these sperrets appearing?" asked
Mrs. Lufkin, rather doubtfully.

"At Willy's his rooms," replied Tom. "But,
my dear Susan, let me caution you, and Dan'l,
not to apply to these philmy and mysterious
unsubstances, the terms you would naturally
use in reference to Mr. Buckstone or Mr. Toole.
Sperrets may avail themselves of public
exhibition-rooms, without descending to the level of
the stage. In order to impress this himportant
truth upon the public mind, my friends, the Mrs.
Davingpodge, have, in the most disinterested
manner, fixed the price of admission at one
guinea, a sum which must necessarily hexclude
a considerable number of truth-seekers, but
ensures, on the part of them as does come in, a
gravity and attention befitting the hoccasion."

"A guinea, Tom!" said Mrs. L., aghast.

"Twenty-one shillings," returned Tom
Bowsicold, sternly. "Wheer else, let me ask, can
you find a similiar exhib—phenomenon?
Did any one— I put it to you both— object to
paying a guinea for to see the Phossil Child—
till the proprietors, finding it was nothing of the
sort, liberally reduced the price to Twopence?"

Mrs. Lufkin replied that, having never heerd
tell of the infant in question, she could not say,
but that a guinea was a guinea, that, having no
particular desire to witness a " similiar"
hexhibition, it did not concern her whether the terms
was fair or not. Finally, seeing me a little
disappinted, the good soul added that, if the Mrs.
Davingpodge would so far recognise husband
and wife as one flesh, as to accept a guinea for
the two, she would consent to attend. Tom
Bowsicold assuring us that he believed his
personal influence could effect this arrangement, off
we set, in high spirits, for Willy's his rooms.

There was a policeman standing outside who
looked at us— likewise at two or three other
parties as was entering— so keenly, from head
to foot, that I was inclining to ask him what he
meant, when Tom jerked me on, and, taking my
guinea, whispered to a gent in the lobby, and
passed us in.

This is exactly what we saw, and what I
mean, as sure as my name's Dan'l Lufkin, to
publish (if nought else will do it) in the
Hogsmead Weekly Scrutineer.

It was darkish in the room. The stage,
however, was well lighted, and upon it stood a
thing like my wife's clothes-press, with three
doors that laid open the whole front, excepting
three or four inches on each side, and showed
us there was nothing within but a narrer seat
full of little holes that went all round, a
tambourine, a fiddle, a battered post-horn, and
a heap of cords. Our admission-ticket said that
the audience must be expressly limited to thirty,
and we found it very near the mark, for there
was only forty-two. Some was walking about,
some chatting together, but all very quiet, and
looking oddly about, as if they wasn't quite sure
whether they had got into the right place, or
not. P'raps they hadn't.

Mrs. L. was getting a little nervous.

"Wheer is Mrs. Davingpodge?" she
whispered, tremulous, to Tom. "Among the
sperrets?"

"Here at your elbow," answered Tom, coolly.
"How do, Arthur?"

My wife recoiled, but Mr. Arthur Davingpodge,
who seemed a nice-looking young gent
who was never given enough to eat, bowed,
smiled, and walked away.

A friend of the Mrs. Davingpodge then
invited any gentleman that pleased to come on