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“Major, I’m very sorry, but the fact is”—-

“Never mind, never mind, my dear fellow–no trouble to us.”

“But,” chokingly continued poor Triangle, “but, Major, the fact is, I–a–you’ve got a large family”—-

“Never mind, my dear boy; don’t say any more about it.”

“But to have the–a–the–small-pox”—-

“What?” gasped the Major–“the–a”—-

“Small-pox!” seriously enough responded Triangle.

“Small-pox! Who? Where?”

“Our Irish girl–up stairs–awful!”

“O, good Lord! Irish–up stairs–small-pox!” reiterated the really alarmed proprietor of Jingo Hall.

“I wouldn’t have”–said Triangle.

“The small-pox in my house”–echoed Jingo.

“For all the blessed countries in the world!” passionately exclaimed Triangle.

“Heavens!” exclaimed the Major; “my wife has a greater dread of small-pox than yellow fever, or death itself!”

“What’s to be done?” said poor Triangle.

“Remove the girl to an out-house, instantly!” said the Major, pacing up and down, in great furore.

“That’s best, Major; go move her, at once.”

“Me? Me move her, sir?” said Jingo.

“Why who will, Major?” responded Triangle.

“Who? Why, you, of course.”

“Me?” exclaimed Triangle–“me? endanger my life, and the lives of all my family–me? No, sir, I’ll–I’ll–I’ll be hanged if I do!”

“Blur a’ nouns, zur!” bawled the Irish hostler, as he came trotting up to the front veranda, where Triangle and Jingo were discussing the transportation of small-pox–

“Blur a’ nouns–the dog’s loose!”

“Curse the dog!” said the Major.

“But, zur, it’s raving mad, he is!”

“Mad! my dog?” cries Triangle.

“A mad dog, too!” exclaims the Major, in horror.

“O, too bad–horrible–wish I’d never seen”—-

“Get your gun, quick–come on!” cried the Major.

“But, my dear Major, my gun’s broke all to smash. O! that I had shot the blasted brute instead of breaking my gun!”

“Come on–never mind–seize a club, fork, or anything, and hunt around for the cursed dog. He’ll bite some of our people, horses, or cattle.” And away ran the Major, with a bit of stick about the size of a fence-rail. Paddy made himself scarce, and Triangle, in agony, flew around to hunt up his daughter, whom they found asleep in a summer-house.

Mrs. Major Jingo, when she heard that the Irish girl had introduced the small-pox on Jingo Hill, liked to have fainted away; but, conquering her weakness, she ordered the carriage, and bundled herself and four children into it, so full of terror and alarm that she never so much as said–“Take care of yourself, Mrs. Triangle!” Maj. Jingo returned, after a fruitless search for Triangle’s mad dog, and just as he entered the hall, the Irish girl came rushing down stairs, crying–

“O! murther, murther! I’m dead as a door-nail, entirely, wid dese pains in my face. Be gorra! O, murther!”

One look at the swollen and truly frightful face of the girl put the Major to his taps; and stopping but a moment to tell Triangle to make out the best he could, he left.

Next morning, bag and baggage, the Triangles vamosed. The poor girl having recovered from her attack of the bees, which had led to the alarm of small-pox, looked quite respectable. Never did a party enjoy home more completely than the Triangles after that. Triangle has a holy horror of trips to the country, and the Jingos are down on visitors from the city.