"Trouble, Sir? I believe you. Them old women gives me a peck o' trouble, far more nor the breakin' of a retriever dog. There's old Mrs. PADSTOW, Mother PADDS we call 'er, she's a rare old teaser. Went up to Mr. CHALMERS last week and told 'im I'd shot 'er pet cat. Mr. CHALMERS, 'e spoke to me about it; said I'd better go and make it right with the old gal. So, yesterday I goes to call upon 'er. First we passed the time o' day together, and then we got to business. You see, Sir, me and the old lady had always been friendly, so I took it on the friendly line. 'Look 'ere,' I says, 'Mrs. PADSTOW, I've come about a cat.' 'Ah,' she says. 'It's just this way,' I says, 'Mr. CHALMERS tells me you said I'd shot your cat. Now,' I says, straightenin' myself up and lookin' proud, 'I couldn't scarcely believe that, and you and me such good friends, so I've just come to ask you if you did say that. She was a bit took aback at this, so I asked 'er again. 'Well,' she says, 'I didn't exactly say that.' 'What did you say then?' I asked her. 'I told Mr. CHALMERS,' she says, 'that our old cat 'ad been shot what never did no 'arm, and I thought it might be as you'd a done it, p'raps not meanin' it.' 'Ah,' I says, 'them was your words, was they?' 'Yes,' she says, 'them was my words.' 'Well, then,' I says, 'you'd better be careful what you say next time, or you don't know whose character you'll be takin' away next.' And with that I left 'er." "But did you shoot the cat, SYKES?" I ventured to ask. "_Did_ I shoot it? Ho, ho, ha, ha! What do _you_ think! Sir?" And with that enigmatic answer the dialogue closed. * * * * * When referring to a recent Lecture by a certain Noble Marquis (distinguished in the "_P.R._-age" of the Realm), the ladies generally say, that they should decidedly object to be married "under the Queensberry Rules." _Their_ prize ring is quite another affair. * * * * * "DOWN AMONG THE COALS."--The most appropriate place wherein to try "the scuttle" policy would, of course, be--Newcastle. * * * * * THE DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROeM. [Illustration] (_Fragments from a Narrative somewhat in the style of E. A. Poe._) Even while one gazed, the current acquired a monstrous velocity. Each moment added to its speed--to its headlong impetuosity. The vast bed of the waters, seamed and scarred into a thousand conflicting channels, burst suddenly into frenzied convulsion--heaving, boiling, hissing,--gryrating in gigantic and innumerable vortices, and all whirling and plunging on with a rapidity which water never elsewhere assumes except in precipitous descents. * * * * *