“The night-light may be left burning where it is, Dietrich.” “Now then, Malchen!” “Now then Dietrich,--and run gently--on your toes!” No sooner said than done. The modest Malchen with the speed of a young wild elephant made a rush across the room, and, with something of a jump and something more of a scramble, plunged headlong into the bed. The phlegmatic Dietrich was a thought later, from having included the whole length of the landing-place in his run, to help him in his leap, so that just as his bulk came squash! upon the coverlet, his predecessor was tumbling her body, skow-wow, bow-wow, any-how, over the side of the bedstead. [Illustration: COUNTRY QUARTERS.] “Sancta Maria!” sobbed Madame Doppeldick, as she settled into hysterics upon the floor. “Potz-tausend!” said Mr. Doppeldick, as he crawled backwards out of the bed like a crab. “Ten thousand devils!” bellowed Captain Schenk--a suppressed exclamation that the first shock had driven from his mouth into his throat, from his throat into his lungs, and from thence into his stomach; but which the second shock had now driven out again in full force. [Illustration: THE BEARER OF THE GREAT SEAL.] * * * * * “Why, I thought, Mister Jean Paul Nemand (says the reader), that we left the Captain safe and sound, in his own bed, next the window, with the patch-work coverlet?” “And so we did, Mister Carl Wilhelm Jemand (says the author,) but it was so short, that in five minutes he caught the cramp. Wherefore, as there was a second spare bed in the room, and as honest Dietrich had said nothing of other lodgers, and as of all blessings we ought to choose the biggest, the Captain determined to give it a trial--and between you and me he liked the bed well enough, till he felt a sort of smashing pain all over his body, his eyes squeezing out of his face, his nose squeezing into it, and his precious front teeth, at a gulp, going uninvited down his gullet!” [Illustration: “WHY DID YOU SUP ON PORK?”] ODE FOR THE NINTH OF NOVEMBER. O Lud! O Lud! O Lud! I mean of course that venerable town, Mention’d in stories of renown, Built formerly of mud;-- O Lud, I say, why didst thou e’er Invent the office of a Mayor, An office that no useful purpose crowns, But to set Aldermen against each other, That should be Brother unto Brother,-- Sisters at least, by virtue of their gowns But still if one must have a Mayor To fill the Civic chair, O Lud, I say, Was there no better day To fix on, than November Ninth so shivery And dull for showing off the Livery’s livery? [Illustration: FINDING A MAY’R’S NEST.]