the lady of the Mug, fixing her eyes upon Mr. Dunnaker, said, "Dummie, Dummie, if little Paul should come to be scragged!"
"Whish!" muttered Dummie, glancing over his shoulder at Mac Grawler,—"Mayhap that Gemman,"—here his voice became scarcely audible even to Mrs. Lobkins; but his whisper seemed to imply an insinuation, that the illustrious editor of the Asinæum might be either an informer, or one of those heroes on whom an informer subsists.
Mrs. Lobkins' answer, couched in the same key, appeared to satisfy Dunnaker, for, with a look of great contempt, he chucked up his head, and said, "Oho! that be all, be it!"
Paul here re-appeared with the pipe, and the flame, having filled the tube, leaned forward, and lighted the Virginian weed from the blower of Mr. Dunnaker. As in this interesting occupation the heads of the hostess and the guest approached each other, the glowing light playing cheerily on the countenance of each, there was an honest simplicity in the picture that would have merited the racy and vigorous genius of a Cruikshank. As soon as the Promethean spark hd been fully
