Out Of The Frying Pain Into The Fire

OR,

THE LOVE OF A HOUSE.

"HADN'T you better give your landlord notice to-day, that we will move at the end of the year, Mr. Plunket?"

"Move! For heaven's sake, Sarah, what do we want to move for?"

"Mr. Plunket!"

"Mrs. Plunket!"

"It's a very strange way for you to address me, Mr. Plunket. A very strange way!"

"But for what on earth do you want to move, Sarah? Tell me that. I'm sure we are comfortable enough off here."

"Here! I wouldn't live in this miserable house another twelve months, if you gave me the rent free."

"I don't see any thing so terribly bad about the house. I am well satisfied."

"Are you, indeed! But I am not, I can tell you for your comfort."

"What's the matter with the house?"

"Every thing. There isn't a comfortable or decent room in it, from the garret to the cellar. Not one. It's, a horrid place to live in; and such a neighbourhood to bring up children in!"

"You thought it a 'love of a house' a year ago."

"Me! Mr. Plunket, I never liked it; and it was all your fault that we ever took the miserable affair."

"My fault! Bless me, Sarah, what are you talking about? I didn't want to move from where we were. I never want to move."

"Oh, no, you'd live in a pigstye for ever, if you once got there, rather than take the trouble to get out of it."

"Mrs. Plunket!"

"Mr. Plunket!"

Wise from experience, the gentleman deemed it better to run than fight. So, muttering to himself, he took up his hat and beat a hasty retreat.

Mrs. Plunket had a mother, a fact of which Mr. Plunket was perfectly aware, particularly as said relative was a member of his family. She happened to be present when the above spicy conversation took place. As soon as he had retired, she broke out with--"Humph! just like him; any thing to be contrary. But I wouldn't live in this old rattle-trap of a place another year for any man that ever stepped into shoe-leather. No, indeed, not I. Out of repair from top to bottom; not a single convenience, so to speak; walls cracked, paper soiled, and paint yellow as a pumpkin."

"And worse than all, ma, every closet is infested with ants and overrun with mice. Ugh! I'm afraid to open a cupboard, or look into a drawer. Why, yesterday, a mouse jumped upon me and came near going into my bosom. I almost fainted. Oh, dear! I never can live in this house another year; it is out of the question. I should die."

"No one thinks of it, except Mr. Plunket, and he's always opposed to every thing; but that's no matter. If he don't notify the landlord, we can. Live here another twelvemonth! No, indeed!"