cylinder stove, and, bending over till his head rested upon his
hands, he, in a half-audible voice, talked to himself.

"Here 't is, eighteen forty-some years since I saw that Dayton cove;
eh, gone by the board? The daily papers say he was up for a common
drunkard; but, being first time, was lectured and sent home. Plaguy
poor home his, I reckon! Wonder if the lecture did him as much good
as Old Batter's did me. Ah! he liked that brandy, and said I should
bear the blame if he was ruined; but he an't that yet. Here I am,
ten times worse off than he is, and I an't ruined. No! Mr. Dago Pump
is a man yet. Well, well! what shall I say?-business awful dull, and
it's damp and dark here; I feel cold 'side of this red-faced stove."

Mr. Onendago Pump poked the fire, and continued to do so till a
ragged little boy, without shoes, stockings or cap, came down the
slippery steps, and asked for "two cents' worth of rum, and one
cent's worth of crackers."

The proprietor of this subterraneous establishment threw aside an
old wire that served as a poker, and demanded payment in advance.
The child handed him the three cents, received his rum and crackers,
and left.

Mr. Pump, who for a long time had lived on appearances, could do so
no longer; for, persisting in his opinion that brandy could not hurt
him, he drank so much that bad soon supplanted good appearances, and
his company was soon discarded.

Mr. Blinge would not have him about his premises, although the one
drank as much as the other, and a great similarity existed between