Lifting a large pewter spoon that lay beside the plate, he was about to introduce it to the hot decoction before him. Already the limber hinges of his jaw began to relax, preparatory to admitting the well-filled spoon. His attention was suddenly arrested by the proprietor, who, with one hand behind him and the other laid upon the spoon-arm of the would-be eater, demanded the price of the dinner before he went any further. The man, it seems, was not a member of that class of individuals which the hotel keeper thought him. He was justly indignant, therefore, at the demand, and sharply informed mine host that “he guessed after he had eaten his dinner would be time enough to pay for it.” But the oft-swindled proprietor thought differently. The man had scarcely got the words out of his mouth before “mine host” produced a syringe, large as the trunk of a small-sized elephant, and slapping the nozzle of it into the soup, ran it circling around the plate, and with one long, slobbering draught, like that of a horse drinking through his bits, the soup plate was left lying before the hungry man, as empty as his own stomach. The astonished individual looked first at his plate, on which not even a bean was left, then at the dripping, steaming muzzle of the syringe, and lastly at the landlord, who stood with a look of triumph spreading over his face, silently waiting for the man to either come down with the coin or leave the table. Though not liking that summary way of treating a person, the man was either too hungry or too limited in time to go further for a meal, so he fished out of his pocket the change and handed it to the proprietor. The latter thereupon discharged the contents of the syringe into the soup plate again, and walked away, leaving the customer to proceed with his dinner. [Illustration] A FAMILY JAR. One night, while passing through the street, A stranger paused to hear The tumult from a cottage nigh, That stunned the listening ear. And as he stood without the door The sound of war arose, As when Boroo the Irish king Engaged his stubborn foes. So drawing nigh the window-sill He studied matters fair, And lo, the husband and the wife Engaged in battle there: The former with his doubled fists The battle sought to win; While to his head the wife applied The heavy rolling-pin. And as the stranger stood without He thus communed with care,— For he was shrewd and thought it best To weigh the danger there,— “This is some family affair: Some question I opine That I should not discuss with them, Nor make the quarrel mine; For I am newly risen up From off the bed of pain, And they perchance will turn on me, And send me there again.” [Illustration: STRANGER WHO WENT NOT IN.]