The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser. — 1839-08-16 (Liverpool, Merseyside, England)

PLEASANT NIGHT'S REST.  " What on earth is the matter?" inquired Mr. Plumplee, as he entered the room pale as a ghost in his night-shirt, with a pistol in one hand and a lamp in the other. '" Its all right," said Beagle, " 'twas I that made the noise. I've been besieged by a cohort of cats. • They have been at it here making most healthful music under my bed for the last two hours, and in trying to make them hold their peace with the bolster, I upset that noisy affair, that's all." •" Cats !" cried Mr. Plumplee, cats !"—you eat a little too much cucumber, my friend !—that and the crabs were too heavy for your stomach !—you have been dreaming ! you'e had tik night mare ! We haven't a cat in the house ; I can't bear them."  You are mistaken," rejoined Beagle, " they're about here in swarms. If I've turned one cat out this night, I'm sure that I've turned out twenty ! I've, in fact, done tho-' thing else since I came up. In and out, in and out ! Upon, my life, I think I can't have opened that blessed door less than an hundred and fifty times ; and that young fellow there has been all the while fast as a church !"  " I tell you, my friend, you've been dreaming ! We have never had a cat about the premises."  " Meyow,—rneyow ?" cried Valentine quietly. " Now, have I been dreaming.?" triumphantly exclaimed Mr. Beagle, " now have I had the night mare ? "God bless my life !" cried Mr. Plumplee, jumping upon Mr. Beagle's bed, " they don't belong to me." " I don't know whom they belong to," returned Mr. Beagle, " nor do I much care : I only know that there they are." If you'll just hook those breeches up here, I'll get out and half murder them ! Only hook 'em this way !—l'll wring their precious necks off !" They're out of my react," cried Mr. Plurnblee, " Hish ! hish !" Finding, however, that harsh terms had no good effect, he had recourse to the milder and more persuasive cry of " Pussey, pussey, pussey, pussey ! tit, tit, tit !" Hish ! you devils !" cried Mr. Jonas Beagle, who began to be really enraged. " Titty, titty, titty, titty !—puss, puss, puss !" repeated Mr. Plumplee in the blandest and most seductive tones, as he held the pistol by the muzzle to break the back or to knock out the brains of the first unfortunate cat that made her appearance : but all this persuasion to come forth had no effect ; they continued to be invisible, while the mewing proceeded in the most melancholy strain.  " What on earth are we to do 1" inquired Plumplec, " I myself have a horror of Cats." "The same to me, and many of 'em !" observed Mr. Beagle. " Let's wake that young fellow, perhaps he don't mind them." " Hollo 1" cried Plumplee.  " Hul-lo!" shouted Beagle ; but as neither could make any impression upon Valentine, and as both were afraid to get off the bed to shake him, they proceeded to roll up the blankets and sheets into balls and to pelt him with infinite zeal.  " Who's there ? What's the matter ?" cried Valentine at length, in the coolest tone imaginable, although his exertions made him sweat like a tinker.  " For Heaven's sake, my dear young friend," said Mr. Plumplee, " do assist us in turning these cats out." " Cats ! Where are they? Hish !" cried Valentine. " Oh, that's no use whatever. I've tried the hishing business myself. All the hishing in the world won't do. They must be beaten out ; you're not afraid of them, are you !" " Afraid of them ! afraid of a few cats ?" exclaimed Valentine with the assumption of some considerable magnanimity. " Where are they?' " Under my bed," replied Beagle. " There's a brave fellow ! Break their blessed necks !" and Valentine leaped out of bed and after striking at the :imaginary animals very furiously with the bolster, he hissed with great violence and scratched across the grain of the boards in humble imitation of those domestic creatures scampering out of a room, when he rushed to the door, and proceeded to make a very forlorn meyowiiag die gradually away at the bottom of the stairs.— Valentine Vox, the Ventriloquist.  A