A KISS ON DEMAND.

It was a very peculiar sound, something like the popping of a champagne cork, something like the report of a small pocket pistol, but exactly like nothing but itself. It was a kiss.

A kiss implies two parties—unless it be one of those symbolical kisses produced by one pair of lips, and wafted through the air in token of affection or admiration. But this particular kiss was genuine. The parties in the case were Mrs. Phebe Mayflower, the newly-married wife of honest Tom Mayflower, gardener to Mr. Augustus Scatterly, and that young gentleman himself. Augustus was a good-hearted, rattle-brained spendthrift, who had employed the two or three years which had elapsed since his majority in "making ducks and drakes" of the pretty little fortune left him by his defunct sire. There was nothing very bad about him, excepting his prodigal habits, and by these he was himself the severest sufferer. Tom, his gardener, had been married a few weeks, and Gus, who had failed to be at the wedding, and missed the opportunity of "saluting the bride," took it into his head that it was both proper and polite that he should do so on the first occasion of his meeting her subsequently to that interesting ceremony. Mrs. Mayflower, the other party interested in the case, differed from him in opinion, and the young landlord kissed her in spite of herself. But she was not without a champion, for at the precise moment when Scatterly placed his audacious lips in contact with the blooming cheek of Mrs. M., Tom entered the garden and beheld the outrage.

"What are you doing of, Mr. Scatterly?" he roared.

"O, nothing, Tom, but asserting my rights! I was only saluting the bride."

"Against my will, Tommy," said the poor bride, blushing like a peony, and wiping the offended cheek with her checked apron.

"And I'll make you pay dear for it, if there's law in the land," said Tom.

"Poh, poh! don't make a fool of yourself," said Scatterly.

"I don't mean to," answered the gardener, dryly.

"You're not seriously offended at the innocent liberty I took?"

"Yes I be," said Tom.

"Well, if you view it in that light," answered Scatterly, "I shall feel bound to make you reparation. You shall have a kiss from my bride, when I'm married."

"That you never will be."

"I must confess," said Scatterly, laughing, "the prospect of repayment seems rather distant. But who knows what will happen? I may not die a bachelor, after all. And if I marry—I repeat it, my dear fellow—you shall have a kiss from my wife."

"No he shan't," said Phebe. "He shall kiss nobody but me."

"Yes he shall," said Scatterly. "Have you got pen, ink, and paper, Tom?"

"To be sure," answered the gardener. "Here they be, all handy."

Scatterly sat down and wrote as follows:—

"The Willows, August —, 18—.

"Value received, I promise to pay Thomas Mayflower or order, one kiss on demand.

"Augustus Scatterly."

"There you have a legal document," said the young man, as he handed the paper to the grinning gardener. "And now, good folks, good by."

"Mistakes will happen in the best regulated families," and so it chanced that, in the autumn of the same year, our bachelor met at the Springs a charming belle of Baltimore, to whom he lost his heart incontinently. His person and address were attractive, and though his prodigality had impaired his fortune, still a rich old maiden aunt, who doted on him, Miss Persimmon Verjuice, promised to do the handsome thing by him on condition of his marrying and settling quietly to the management of his estate. So, under these circumstances, he proposed, was accepted, and married, and brought home his beautiful young bride to reside with Miss Verjuice at the Willows.

In the early days of the honeymoon, one fine morning, when Mr. and Mrs. Scatterly and the maiden aunt were walking together in the garden, Tom Mayflower, dressed in his best, made his appearance, wearing a smile of most peculiar meaning.

"Julia," said Augustus, carelessly, to his young bride, "this is my gardener, come to pay his respects to you—honest Tom Mayflower, a very worthy fellow, I assure you."

Mrs. Scatterly nodded condescendingly to the gardener who gazed upon her with the open eyes of admiration. She spoke a few words to him, inquired about his wife, his flowers, &c., and then turned away with the aunt, as if to terminate the interview.

But Tom could not take his eyes off her, and he stood, gaping and admiring, and every now and then passing the back of his hand across his lips.

"What do you think of my choice, Tom?" asked Scatterly, confidentially.

"O, splendiferous!" said the gardener.

"Roses and lilies in her cheeks—eh?" said Scatterly.

"Her lips are as red as carnations, and her eyes as blue as larkspurs," said the gardener.

"I'm glad you like your new mistress; now go to work, Tom."

"I beg pardon, Mr. Scatterly; but I called to see you on business."

"Well—out with it."

"Do you remember any thing about saluting the bride?"

"I remember I paid the customary homage to Mrs. Mayflower."

"Well, don't you remember what you promised in case of your marriage?"

"No!"

Tom produced the promissory note with a grin of triumph. "It's my turn now, Mr. Scatterly."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean to kiss Mrs. Scatterly."

"Go to the deuse, you rascal!"

"O, what is the matter?" exclaimed both the ladies, startled by Scatterly's exclamation, and turning back to learn the cause.

"This fellow has preferred a demand against me," said Scatterly.

"A legal demand," said the gardener, sturdily; "and here's the dokiment."

"Give it to me," said the old maid aunt. Tom handed her the paper with an air of triumph.

"Am I right?" said he.

"Perfectly, young man," replied Miss Verjuice; "only, when my nephew married, I assumed all his debts; and I am now ready myself to pay your claim."

"Fairly trapped, by Jupiter!" exclaimed Scatterly, in an ecstasy of delight.

"Stop, stop!" cried the unhappy gardener, recoiling from the withered face, bearded lip, and sharp nose of the ancient spinster; "I relinquish my claim—I'll write a receipt in full."

"No, sir," said Scatterly; "you pressed me for payment this moment—and you shall take your pay, or I discharge you from my employ."

"I am ready," said the spinster, meekly.

Tom shuddered—crawled up to the old lady—shut his eyes—made up a horrible face, and kissed her, while Mr. and Mrs. S. stood by, convulsed with laughter.

Five minutes afterwards, Tom entered the gardener's lodge, pale, weak, and trembling, and sank into a chair.

"Give me a glass of water, Phebe!" he gasped.

"Dear, what has happened?" asked the little woman.

"Happened! why that cussed Miss Verjuice is paying Mr. Scatterly's debts."

"Well?"

"Well, I presented my promissory note—he handed it to her—and—and—O murder!—I've been kissing the old woman!"

Phebe threw her arms about his neck, and pressed her lips to his, and Thomas Mayflower then and there solemnly promised that he would nevermore have any thing to do with Kisses on Demand!