hat the

Christian era dated from the invention of a popular game, by a

lady who had bestowed her name upon it.) Mr. Cruncher’s

apartments were not in a savoury neighbourhood, and were but

two in number, even if a closet with a single pane of glass in it

might be counted as one. But they were very decently kept. Early

as it was, on the windy March morning, the room in which he lay

a-bed was already scrubbed throughout; and between the cups

and saucers arranged for breakfast, and the lumbering deal table,

a very clean white cloth was spread.

Mr. Cruncher reposed under a patchwork counterpane, like a

Harlequin at home. At first, he slept heavily, but, by degrees,

began to roll and surge in bed, until he rose above the surface,

with his spiky hair looking as if it must tear the sheets to ribbons.

At which juncture, he exclaimed, in a voice of dire exasperation:

“Bust me, if she ain’t at it agin!”

A woman of orderly and industrious appearance rose from her

knees in a corner, with sufficient haste and trepidation to show

that she was the person referred to.

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“What!” said Mr. Cruncher, looking out of bed for a boot.

“You’re at it agin, are you?”

After hailing the morn with this second salutation, he threw a

boot at the woman as a third. It was a very muddy boot, and may

introduce the o