THE BLUNDERBERRYS AT BREAKFAST.

Poverty Bay Standard, Volume I, Issue 5, 6 November 1883, Page 4

THE BLUNDERBERRYS AT BREAKFAST.

11 Ir Mr Gladstone doeen’t do something with the French,” said Mrs Blunderberry, spreading mustard on her bread, and passing the marmalade to her husband with his bacon, “ I don’t know what will happen.” “ I daresay not, my dear,” replied her bosom Jord, engrossed by his newspaper, and pawing round wildly with one hand to find the toast-rack. “ A more grasping lot there never was. Not satisfied with Madagascar and the Suez Canal and what's-its-name in China, the paper says they've taken umbrage now," "Ha I ha ' let ’em," answered her lord and master, 11 it’s just the sort of thing they would take if they found it lying loose around anywhere. Where have they taken it to Mrs B. ? Did they find it floating in the Channel, and fix a rope to it and tow it into Boulogne Harbour? Did they come across it wandering about the streets with no visible means of earning a livelihood, and half it off to prison without the option of a fine P" “ Well, Mr Blunderberry,” replied his wife indignantly, “ I thought, at least, you knew something of geography." “ No, my dear; that is your strong point— l leave it to you. Why, ma’am, if you were only a little rounder and properly painted, I’d set you in a frame for a terrestrial globe ; a telescope and a cocked hat would fit you up complete as a female Captain Cook ; with gilt edges and a label on your back no one would distinguish you from a gazetter; if you were only printed on thick paper, with your knowledge of foreign countries, I’d pin you up against the wall as a map of the world."

“At all events, Mr Blunderberry, I don’t suppese you are going to defend the French admiral who took Fommy-something in Madagascar, and took liberties with the British flag, and "

“ And took French leave to imprison an English subject, and took cold, and took physio for it, and then, thank goodness 1 took his departure. A s you say, Mrs 8., those French are always taking something.” " He, he, he!” tittered Mrs Blunderberry. “ You’re so witty, Solomon, I wonder you don’t write for the comic papers.” “ 11l tell you what I will do, ma’am: I’ll sharpen you at both ends, and when you’re pointed enough, I'll send you in as a joke. I’ll hang a note of interrogation on to your back hair, and oner you as a prize coundrum. I’ll draw you out, and submit you for a cartoon."

"You seem to forget, Mr Blunderberry, that I am your wife,” said his good lady, with an assumption of dignity, which was somewhat marred by her endeavouring while she spoke to fish the salt spoon out of the teapot with the sugar tongs. "Madam," replied her husband, taking a savage bite out of a round of toast, " you are right. I had forgotten the relationship for a moment, I was labouring under the impression that you were ‘ Mangnall’s Questions ’ and the “ Child’s Guide to Knowledge " bound in one. I fancied you might be the entire Boyal Society. I had an idea that you were the London School Board. 1 more than suspected you of being the British Encyclopedia m disguise. But, thank goodness, I now realise that, after all, you are but human."

“ Oh, Solmon, Solomon !" sobbed his better half, “ you meant you wish that I was dud— dud—dead."

“Tut, tut, tut! What nonsense you're talking “ You're so inhuman as to be glad I’m human," moaned Mrs Blunderberry, "There, there, my dear, I didn't mean to say anything to pain you," said her husband, as he kissed the tip of her ear and reached for his hat: " you shan’t be human if you don’t like it."

“ What a splendid, generous, noblehearted man he is I” sighed Mrs Blunderberry, as with tears in her eyes she watched him stop to light a cigar at the garden gate. “ I’m afraid sometimes I am a little too sharp with him. ” And she took a pair of slippers out of her work basket, which had been in progress for eighteen months, and devoted her whole morning to their advancement, and as a labour of love and an antonement for any shortcomings of which she might have been guilty at that morning’s breakfasttable.