He was enjoying a little relaxation from his sedentary pursuits a quarter of an hour ago, in kicking his wife up the court.

He has come to redeem some tools:--probably to complete a job with, on account of which he has already received some money, if his inflamed countenance and drunken staggers may be taken as evidence of the fact.

Having waited some little time, he makes his presence known by venting his ill-humour on a ragged urchin, who, being unable to bring his face on a level with the counter by any other process, has employed himself in climbing up, and then hooking himself on with his elbows--an uneasy perch, from which he has fallen at intervals, generally alighting on the toes of the person in his immediate vicinity.

In the present case, the unfortunate little wretch has received a cuff which sends him reeling to this door; and the donor of the blow is immediately the object of general indignation.
'What do you strike the boy for, you brute ?' exclaims a slipshod woman, with two flat irons in a little basket.

'Do you think he's your wife, you willin ?' 'Go and hang yourself!' replies the gentleman addressed, with a drunken look of savage stupidity, aiming at the same time a blow at the woman which fortunately misses its object.