MR. SLUDGE, "THE MEDIUM." Now, don't sir! Don't expose me! Just this once! "Get You still inflict on me that terrible face? up ?" 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 Of peace through me, and moved you, sir, so much, These shirt-studs (better take them back again, 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 : THE MEDIUM. Whatever put such folly in my head, There's a thick, I know 't was wicked of me. Why, now your face clears! I was sure it would! Then, this one time. . don't take don't take your hand away, Through yours I surely kiss your mother's hand.. You'll promise to forgive me ?-or, at least, Tell nobody of this? Consider, sir! What harm can mercy do? Would but the shade Of the venerable dead-one just vouchsafe 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? Upon my soul!—the whole truth, and nought else, 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, |