"O," says the lobster merchant, "that's easy enough; here, Saul," says he, calling up a frizzle-headed lad in blue pants--_sans_ hat or boots, and but one _gallows_ to his breeches, "here, you, light upon these lobsters and carry 'em home for this old gentleman." "Goodness, bless you," says the deacon; "why friend, I reside ten miles out in the country!" "O, the blazes you do!" says the lobster merchant; "well, I tell you, Saul can carry 'em to the cars for you in this 'ere bag, if you're goin' out?" "Truly, he can," quoth the deacon; "and Saul can go right along with me." The lobsters were dashed into a piece of Manilla sack, thrown across the shoulders of the juvenile Saul, and away they went at the heels of the deacon, to the depot; here Saul dashed down the "poor creturs" until their bones or shells rattled most piteously, and as the deacon handed a "three cent piece" to Saul, the long and wicked claw of one of the lobsters protruded out of the bag--opened and shut with a _clack_, that made the deacon shudder! "Those fellows are plaguy awkward to handle, are they not, my son?" says the deacon. "Not _werry_," says the boy; "they can't bite, cos you see they's got pegs down here--_hallo!_" As Saul poked his hand down towards the big claw lying partly out of the open-mouthed bag, the claw opened, and _clacked_ at his fingers, ferocious as a mad dog. "His peg's out," said the boy--"and I can't fasten it; but here's a chunk of twine; tie the bag and they can't get out, any how, and you kin put 'em into yer pot right out of the bag." "Yes, yes," says the deacon; "I guess I will take care of them; bring them here; there, just place the bag right in under my seat; so, that will do." Presently the cars began to fill up, as the minute of departure approached, and soon every seat around the worthy deacon was occupied. By-and-by, "a middle-aged lady," in front of the deacon, began to _fussle_ about and twist around, as if anxious to arrange the great amplitude of her _drapery_, and look after something "bothering" her feet. In front of the lady, sat a _slab_-sided _genus_ dandy, fat as a match and quite as good looking; between his legs sat a pale-face dog, with a flashing collar of brass and tinsel, quite as gaudy as his master's neck-choker; this canine gave an awful-- "_Ihk!_ ow, yow! yow-oo--yow, ook! yow! _yow!_ YOW!" "Lor' a massy!" cries the woman in front of the deacon, jumping up, and making a desperate splurge to get up on to the seats, and in the effort upsetting sundry bundles and parcels around her! "Yow-_ook!_ Yow-_ook!_" yelled the dog, jumping clear out of the grasp of the juvenile _Mantillini_, and dashing himself on to the head and shoulders of the next seat occupants, one of whom was a sturdy civilized Irishman, who made "no bones" in grasping the sickly-looking dog, and to the horror and alarm of the entire female party present, he sung out: "Whur-r-r ye about, ye brute! Is the divil _mad_?"