MR. SLUDGE, "THE MEDIUM." Now, don't sir! Don't expose me! Just this once! "Get up?" You still inflict on me that terrible face? You show no mercy ?-Not for Her dear sake, The sainted spirit's, whose soft breath even now Blows on my cheek-(don't you feel something, sir?) You'll tell? Go tell, then! Who the devil cares What such a rowdy, chooses to Aie-aie-aie! Please, sir! your thumbs are through my windpipe, sir! Ch-ch! Well, sir, I hope you 've done it now! Oh Lord! I little thought, sir, yesterday, When your departed mother spoke those words A trifle of trick, all through a glass too much Of his own champagne, would change my best of friends Into an angry gentleman! Though, 'twas wrong. I don't contest the point; your anger 's just: Whatever put such folly in my head, I know 't was wicked of me. There's a thick, or might it be Tom Paine ? . . Why, now your face clears! I was sure it would! What harm can mercy do? Would but the shade A rap or tip! What bit of paper 's here? . Make the least sign, she urges on her child Forgiveness? There now! Eh? Oh! Twas your foot, And not a natural creak, sir? Answer, then! Once, twice, thrice . see, I'm waiting to say "thrice!" . All to no use? No sort of hope for me? What? If I told you all about the tricks? We'll refer How you 're changed! Then split the difference; thirty more, we 'll say. Ay, but you leave my presents! Else I'll swear 'Twas all through those: you wanted yours again, So, picked a quarrel with me, to get them back! Tread on a worm, it turns, sir! If I turn, |