In process of time Mr. Yahoo bethought himself of getting "white-washed;" but when he came to be inspected, it was considered that he was not properly seasoned; so the operation was delayed for two years, under a very arbitrary statute, which enacted, "that if it should appear that the said prisoner had contracted any of his debts fraudulently, or by means of false pretences, or without having had any reasonable or probable expectation, at the time when contracted, of paying the same," &c. &c. &c., "or should be indebted for damages recovered in any action for criminal conversation, or seduction, or for malicious injuries, &c. &c., such prisoner should be discharged as to such debts and damages, so soon only as he should have been in custody at the suit of such creditors for a period or periods not exceeding two years." Such is the odious restraint upon the liberty of the subject, which at this day, in the nineteenth century, is suffered to disgrace the statute law of England; for, in order to put other Yahoos upon their guard against the cruel and iniquitous designs upon them, I here inform them that the laws under which Mr. Yahoo suffered his two years' incarceration, (every one of his debts, &c., coming under one or other of the descriptions above mentioned,) are, proh pudor! re-enacted and at this moment in force, and in augmented stringency,21 as several most respectable gentlemen, if you could only get access to them, would tell you.
Yahoo having been thus adroitly disposed of, Mr. Gammon had the gratification of finding that mischievous simpleton, Fitz-Snooks, very soon afterwards take his departure. He pined for the pleasures of the town, which he had money enough to enjoy for about three years longer, with economy; after which he might go abroad, or to the dogs—wherever they were to be found. 'Twas indeed monstrous dull at Yatton; the game which Yahoo had given him a taste for was so very strictly preserved there! and the birds so uncommon shy and wild, and strong on the wing! Besides, Gammon's presence was a terrible pressure upon him; overawing and benumbing him, in spite of several attempts which he had made, when charged with the requisite quantity of wine, to exhibit an impertinent familiarity, or even defiance. As soon as poor Titmouse had bade Fitz-Snooks good-by, shaken hands with him, and lost sight of him—Titmouse was at Yatton, alone with Gammon, and felt as if a spell were upon him.—He was completely cowed and prostrate. Yet Gammon laid himself out to the very uttermost, to please him, and reassure his drooping spirits. Titmouse had got into his head that the mysterious and dreadful Gammon had, in some deep way or other, been at the bottom of Yahoo's abduction, and of the disappearance of Fitz-Snooks, and would, by-and-by, do as much for him! He had no feeling of ownership of Yatton; but of being, as it were, only tenant-at-will thereof to Mr. Gammon. Whenever he tried to reassure himself, by repeating that it did not signify—for Yatton was his own—and he might do as he liked; his feelings might be compared to a balloon, which, with the eyes of eager and anxious thousands upon it, yet cannot get inflated sufficiently to rise one inch from the ground. How was it? Mr. Gammon's manner towards him was most uncommonly respectful; what else could he wish for? Yet he would have given a thousand pounds to that gentleman to take himself off, and never show his nose again at Yatton! It annoyed him, too, more than he could express, to perceive the deference and respect which every one at the Hall manifested towards Mr. Gammon. Titmouse would sometimes stamp his foot, when alone, with childish fury on the ground, when he thought of it. When at dinner, and sitting together afterwards, Gammon would rack his invention for jokes and anecdotes to amuse Titmouse—who would certainly give a kind of laugh; exclaim, "Bravo! Ha, ha! 'Pon my life!—capital!—By Jove! Most uncommon good! you don't say so?"—and go on, drinking glass after glass of wine, or brandy and water, and smoking cigar after cigar, till he felt fuddled and sick, in which condition he would retire to bed, and leave Gammon, clear and serene in head and temper, to his meditations. When, at length, he broached the subject of their bill—a frightful amount it was; of the moneys advanced by Mr. Quirk, for his support for eight or nine months on a liberal scale, and which mounted up to a sum infinitely larger than could have been supposed; and lastly, of the bond for ten thousand pounds, as the just reward to the firm for their long-continued, most anxious, and successful exertions on their client's behalf—Titmouse mustered up all his resolution, as for a last desperate struggle; swore they were robbing him; and added, with a furious snap of the fingers, "they had better take the estate themselves—allow him a pound a-week, and send him back to Tag-rag's." Then he burst into tears, and cried like a child, long and bitterly.
"Well, sir," said Gammon, after remaining silent for some time, looking at Titmouse calmly, but with an expression of face which frightened him out of his wits, "if this is to be really the way in which I am to be treated by you—I, the only real disinterested friend you have in the world, (as you have had hundreds of opportunities of ascertaining;) if my advice is to be spurned, and my motives suspected; if your first and deliberate engagements to our firm are to be wantonly broken"–
"Ah, but, 'pon my soul, I was humbugged into making them," said Titmouse, passionately.
"Why, you little miscreant!" exclaimed Gammon, starting up in his chair, and gazing at him as if he would have scorched him with his eye, "Do you DARE to say so? If you have no gratitude—have you lost your memory? What were you when I dug you out of your filthy hole at Closet Court? Did you not repeatedly go down on your knees to us? Did you not promise, a thousand times, to do infinitely more than you are now called upon to do? And is this, you insolent—despicable little insect!—is this the return you make us for putting you, a beggar—and very nearly too, an idiot"–
"You're most uncommon polite," said Titmouse, suddenly and bitterly.
"Silence, sir! I am in no humor for trifling!" interrupted Gammon, sternly. "I say, is this the return you think of making us; not only to insult us, but refuse to pay money actually advanced by us to save you from starvation—money, and days and nights, and weeks and months, and many months of intense anxiety, expended in discovering how to put you in possession of a splendid fortune?—Poh! you miserable little trifler!—why should I trouble myself thus? Remember—remember, Tittlebat Titmouse," continued Gammon, in a low tone, and extending towards him threateningly his thin forefinger, "I who made you, will in one day—one single day—unmake you—will blow you away like a bit of froth; you shall never be seen, or heard of, or thought of, except by some small draper whose unhappy shopman you may be!"
"Ah!—'pon my life! Dare say you think I'm uncommon frightened! Ah, ha! Monstrous—particular good!" said Titmouse, desperately.
Gammon perceived that he trembled in every limb; and the smile which he tried to throw into his face was so wretched, that, had you seen him at that moment, and considered his position, much and justly as you now despise him, you must have pitied him. "You're always now going on in this way!—It's all so very likely!" continued he. "Why, 'pon my soul, am not I to be A LORD one of these days? Can you help that? Can you send a lord behind a draper's counter? 'Pon my soul, what do you say to that? I like that, uncommon"–
"What do I say?" replied Gammon, calmly, "why, that I've a great mind to say and do something that would make you—would dispose you to—jump head foremost into the first sewer you came near!"
Titmouse's heart was lying fluttering at his throat.
"Tittlebat, Tittlebat!" continued Gammon, dropping his voice, and speaking in a very kind and earnest manner, "if you did but know the extent to which an accident has placed you in my power! at this moment in my power! Really I almost tremble, myself, to think of it!" He rose, brought his chamber-candlestick out of the hall—lit it—bade Titmouse good-night, sadly but sternly—and shook him by the hand—"I may rid you of my presence to-morrow morning, Mr. Titmouse. I shall leave you to try to enjoy Yatton! May you find a truer—a more powerful friend than you will have lost in me!" Titmouse never shrank more helplessly under the eye of Mr. Gammon than he did at that moment.
"You—you—won't stop and smoke another cigar with a poor devil, will you, Mr. Gammon?" he inquired faintly. "It's somehow—most uncommon lonely in this queer, large, old-fashioned"–
"No, sir," replied Gammon, peremptorily—and withdrew, leaving Titmouse in a state of mingled alarm and anger—the former, however, predominating.
"By jingo!" he at length exclaimed with a heavy sigh, after a revery of about three minutes, gulping down the remainder of his brandy and water, "If that same gent, Mr. Gammon, a'n't the—the—devil—he's the very best imitation of him that ever I heard tell of!" Here he glanced furtively round the room; then he got a little flustered; rang his bell quickly for his valet, and, followed by him, retired to his dressing-room.
The next morning the storm had entirely blown over. When they met at breakfast, Titmouse, as Gammon had known would be the case, was all submission and respect; in fact, it was evident that he was thoroughly frightened by what had fallen from Gammon, but infinitely more so by the manner in which he had spoken over-night. Gammon, however, preserved for some little time the haughty air with which he had met Titmouse; but a few words of the latter, expressing deep regret for what he had said through having drunk too much—poor little soul!—over-night, and his unqualifyingly submitting to every one of the requisitions which had been insisted on by Mr. Gammon—quickly dispersed the cloud settled on that gentleman's brow, when he entered the breakfast-room.
"Now, my dear Mr. Titmouse," said he, very graciously, "you show yourself the gentleman I always took you for—and I forget, forever, all that passed between us, so unpleasantly, last night. I am sure it will never be so again: for now we entirely understand each other?"
"Oh yes—'pon my life—quite entirely!" replied Titmouse, meekly, with a crestfallen air.
Soon after breakfast they adjourned, at Gammon's request, to the billiard-room; where, though that gentleman knew how to handle a cue, and Titmouse did not, he expressed great admiration for Titmouse's play, and felt great interest in being shown by him how to get a ball, now and then, into each pocket at one stroke, a masterly manœuvre in which Titmouse succeeded two or three times, and Gammon not once, during their hour's play. Upon that occasion had occurred the conversation in which Titmouse made the suggestion we have already heard of, viz. that Gammon should immediately clap the screw upon Aubrey, with a view to squeezing out of him at least sufficient to pay the £10,000 bond, and their bill of costs, immediately; and Titmouse urged Gammon at once to send Aubrey packing after Yahoo to York Castle, as an inducement to an early settlement of the remainder. Gammon, however, assured Mr. Titmouse, that in all probability Mr. Aubrey had not a couple of thousand pounds in the world.
"Well, that will do to begin with," said Titmouse, "and the rest must come, sooner or later—eh, by Jove?"
"Leave him to me, my dear Titmouse, or rather to Mr. Quirk—who'll wring him before he's done with him, I warrant you! But, in the mean while, if I work day and night, I will relieve you from this claim of Mr. Quirk: for, in fact, I have little or no real interest in the matter."
"You'll take a slapping slice out of the bond, eh? Aha, Mr. Gammon!—But what were you saying you'd do for me?"
"I repeat, that I am your only disinterested friend, Mr. Titmouse; I shall never see a hundred pounds of what is going into Mr. Quirk's hands; who, I must say, however," added Gammon, with sudden caution, "has richly earned what he's going to get—but—to say the truth, by following my directions throughout. I was saying, however, that I had hit upon a scheme for ridding you of your difficulties. Though you have only just stepped into your property, and consequently people are very shy of advancing money on mortgage, if you'll only keep quiet, and leave the affair entirely to me, I will undertake to get you a sum of possibly twenty thousand pounds."
"My eyes!" exclaimed Titmouse, excitedly; quickly, however, adding with a sad air—"but then, what a lot of it will go to old Quirk?"
"He is rather a keen and hard—ahem! I own; but"–
"'Pon my life, couldn't we do the old gent?"
"On no consideration, Mr. Titmouse; it would be a fatal step for you—and indeed for me."
"What! and can he do anything, too? I thought it was only you."—The little fool had brought a glimpse of color into Gammon's cheek—but Titmouse's volatility quickly relieved his tripping Prospero. "By the way—'pon my life—sha'n't I have to pay it all back again! There's a go! I hadn't thought of that."
"I shall first try to get it out of Mr. Aubrey," said Gammon, "and then out of another friend of yours. In the mean while we must not drop the Tag-rags just yet." They then got into a long and confidential conversation together; in the course of which, Titmouse happened to pop out a little secret of his, which till then he had managed to keep from Gammon, and which occasioned that gentleman a great and sudden inward confusion—one which it was odd that so keen an observer as Titmouse did not perceive indications of in the countenance of Gammon; viz. his—Titmouse's—fervent and disinterested love for Miss Aubrey. While he was rattling on with eager volubility upon this topic, Gammon, after casting about a little in his mind, as to how he should deal with this interesting discovery, resolved for the present to humor the notion, and got out of Titmouse a full and particular account of his original "smite," as that gentleman called his passion for Miss Aubrey—the indelible impression she had made on his heart—the letter which he had addressed to her—[here Gammon's vivid fancy portrayed to him the sort of composition which must have reached Miss Aubrey, and he nearly burst into a gentle fit of laughter]—and, with a strange candor, or rather, to do him justice, with that frank simplicity which is characteristic of noble natures—he at length described his unlucky encounter with Miss Aubrey and her maid, in the winter; whereat Gammon felt a sort of sudden inward spasm, which excited a certain twinging sensation in his right toe—but it passed away—'twas after all, only a little juvenile indiscretion of Titmouse's; but Gammon, with rather a serious air, assured Titmouse that he had probably greatly endangered his prospect with Miss Aubrey.
"Eh? Why, devil take it! a'n't I going to offer to her, though she's got nothing?" interrupted Titmouse, with astonishment.
"True!—Ah, I had lost sight of that. Well, if you will pledge yourself to address no more letters to her, nor take any steps to see her, without first communicating with me—I think I can promise—hem!" he looked archly at Titmouse.
"She's a most uncommon lovely gal"—he simpered sheepishly. The fact was that Gammon had conceived quite another scheme for Titmouse—wholly inconsistent with his pure, ardent, and enlightened attachment to Miss Aubrey; 'twas undoubtedly rather a bold and ambitious one, but Gammon did not despair; for he had that confidence in himself, and in his knowledge of human nature, which always supported him in the most arduous and apparently hopeless undertakings.
There was a visible alteration for the better in the state of things at Yatton, as soon as Messrs. Yahoo and Fitz-Snooks had been disposed of. Now and then a few of the distinguished people who had honored Mr. Titmouse by going out in procession to meet and welcome him, were invited to spend a day at Yatton; and generally quitted full of admiration of the dinner and wines, the unaffected good-nature and simplicity of their hospitable host, and the bland, composed, and intellectual deportment and conversation of Mr. Gammon. When rent-day arrived, Mr. Titmouse, attended by Mr. Gammon, made his appearance in the steward's room, and also in the hall; where, according to former custom, good substantial fare was set out for the tenants. They received him with a due respect of manner; but—alas—where was the cheerfulness, the cordiality, the rough, honest heartiness of days gone by, on such occasions? Few of the tenants stayed to partake of the good things prepared for them; a circumstance which greatly affected Mr. Griffiths, and piqued Mr. Gammon; as for Titmouse, however, he said, with a laugh, "Curse 'em! let 'em leave it alone, if they a'n't hungry!" and any faint feeling of mortification which he might have experienced, was dissipated by the intelligence of the amount paid into his banker's. Gammon was sensible that the scenes which had been exhibited at Yatton on the first night of his protégé's arrival, had seriously injured him in the neighborhood and county, and was bent upon effacing, as quickly as possible, such unfavorable impressions, by prevailing on Titmouse to "purge and live cleanly"—at all events for the present.
Let me pause now, for a moment, to inquire, ought not this favored young man to have felt happy? Here he was, master of a fine estate, producing him a splendid unencumbered rent-roll; a delightful residence, suggesting innumerable dear and dignified associations connected with old English feeling; a luxurious table, with the choicest liqueurs and wines, in abundance: he might smoke the finest cigars that the world could produce, from morning to night, if so disposed; had unlimited facilities for securing a distinguished personal appearance, as far as dress and decoration went; had all the amusements of the county at his command; troops of servants, eager and obsequious in their attentions; horses and carriages of every description which he might have chosen to order out—had, in short, all the "appliances and means to boot," which could be desired or imagined by a gentleman of his station and affluence. Mr. Gammon was, though somewhat stern and plain-spoken, still a most sincere and powerful friend, deeply and disinterestedly solicitous about his interests, and protecting him from villanous and designing adventurers; then he had in prospect the brilliant mazes of fashionable life in town—oh, in the name of everything that this world can produce, and of the feelings it should excite, ought not Titmouse to have enjoyed life—to have been happy? Yet he was not; he felt, quite independently of any constraint occasioned by the presence of Mr. Gammon, full of deplorable and inexpressible wearisomeness, which nothing could alleviate, but the constant use of cigars, and brandy and water. On the first Sunday after the departure of Fitz-Snooks, Titmouse was prevailed upon to accompany the devout and exemplary Gammon to church; where, barring a good many ill-concealed yawns and constant fidgetiness, he conducted himself with tolerable decorum. Yet still the style of his dress, his air, and his countenance, filled the little congregation with feelings of great astonishment, when they thought that that was the new Squire of Yatton, and for a moment contrasted him with his simple and dignified predecessor, Mr. Aubrey. As for the worthy vicar, Dr. Tatham, Gammon resolved to secure his good graces, and succeeded. He called upon the worthy vicar soon after having heard from Titmouse, of his, Yahoo's, and Fitz-Snooks' encounter with Dr. Tatham; and expressed profound concern on being apprised of the rude treatment which he had encountered. There was a gentleness and affability—tempering at once and enhancing his evident acuteness and knowledge of the world—which quite captivated the little doctor. But, above all, the expressions of delicate sympathy and regret with which he now and then alluded to the late occupants of Yatton, and towards whom the stern requisitions of professional duty had caused him to play so odious a part, and his minute inquiries about them, drew out almost all that was in the little doctor's heart concerning his departed friends. Gammon gazed with deep interest at the old blind staghound, and feeble old Peggy; and seemed never tired of hearing the doctor's little anecdotes concerning them. He introduced Titmouse to the vicar; and, in his presence, Gammon declared his (Titmouse's) hatred and contempt for the two fellows who were with him when first he saw Dr. Tatham; who thereupon banished from his heart all recollection of the conduct which had so deeply hurt his feelings. Gammon, on another occasion, infinitely delighted the doctor by calling on a Monday morning, and alluding with evident interest and anxiety to certain passages in his sermon of the day before, and which led to a very lengthened and interesting discussion. In consequence of what then transpired, the doctor suddenly bethought himself of routing out an old sermon, which he had once preached before the judges of assize:—and during the week he touched it up with a good deal of care for the ensuing Sunday—when he had the satisfaction of observing the marked and undeviating attention with which Mr. Gammon sat listening to him; and that candid inquirer after truth afterwards stepped into the little vestry and warmly complimented the doctor upon his very satisfactory and masterly discourse. Thus it was that Dr. Tatham came to pen a postscript to one of his letters to Mrs. Aubrey, to which I have formerly alluded, and of which said postscript the following is a copy:–
"P. S. By the way, the altered state of things at the Hall, I am of opinion, is entirely owing to the presence and the influence of a Mr. Gammon—one of the chief of Mr. Titmouse's solicitors, and to whom he seems very firmly attached. I have lived too long in the world to form hasty opinions, and am not apt to be deceived in my estimate of mankind; but I must say, I consider Mr. Gammon to be a very superior man, as well in character and intellect, as in acquirements. He possesses great acuteness and knowledge of the world, general information, a very calm and courteous address—and above and beyond all, is a man of very enlightened religious feeling. He comes constantly to church, and presents a truly edifying example to all around, of decorum and attention. You would be delighted to hear the discussions we have had on points which my sermons have suggested to him. He is really an uncommonly acute man, and I assure you it requires some little logical skill to contend with him in argument. I preached a sermon lately, specially aimed at him, which, thank God! I have every reason to believe has been attended with happy effects, and allayed some startling doubts which had been for years tormenting him. I am sure that my dear friend" (i. e. Mr. Aubrey) "would be delighted with him. I had myself, I assure you, to overcome a very strong prejudice against him—a thing I always love to attempt, and have in a measure, in the present instance, succeeded. He speaks of you all frequently, with evident caution, but at the same time with the deepest respect and sympathy."
This postscript it was, which, as I have already intimated, suggested to Mr. Aubrey to seek the interview with Gammon which has been described, and during which it was frequently present to his mind.
While, however, under the pressure of Mr. Gammon's benumbing presence and authority, Titmouse was for a brief while leading this sober retired life at Yatton—why, he hardly knew, except that Gammon willed it—a circumstance occurred which suddenly placed him on the very highest pinnacle of popularity in metropolitan society. I hardly know how to suppress my feelings of exultation, in retracing the rapid steps by which Mr. Titmouse was transformed into a Lion of the first magnitude. Be it known that there was a Mr. Bladdery Pip, a fashionable novelist, possessed of most extraordinary versatility and power; for he had at the end of every nine months, during the last nine years, produced a novel in three volumes—each succeeding one eclipsing the splendor of its predecessor, (in the judgment of the accomplished and disinterested newspaper critics)—in the "masterly structure of the plot"—the "vivid and varied delineation of character"—the "profound acquaintance with the workings of the human heart"—"exquisite appreciation of life in all its endless varieties"—"piercing but delicate satire"—"bold and powerful denunciations of popular vices"—"rich and tender domestic scenes"—"inimitable ease and grace"—"consummate tact and judgment"—"reflection coextensive with observation"—"the style flowing, brilliant, nervous, varied, picturesque," et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. We have, in the present day, thank Heaven! at least two or three hundred such writers; but at the time about which I am speaking, Mr. Bladdery Pip was pretty nearly alone in his glory. Such was the man, to whose trading brain it suddenly occurred, on glancing over the newspaper report of the trial of Doe on the Demise of Titmouse v. Jolter, to make the interesting facts of the case the basis of a new novel, on quite a new plan, and which was infinitely to transcend all his former works, and, in fact, occasion quite a revolution in that brilliant and instructive species of literature! To work went Mr. Pip, within a day or two after the trial was over, and in an incredibly short space of time had got to the close of his labors. Practice had made him perfect, and given him infinite facility in the production of first-rate writing. The spirited publisher (Mr. Bubble) then quickly set to work to "get the steam up"—but ah! how secretly and skilfully! For some time there appeared numerous intimations in the daily papers, that "the circles of ton" were "on the qui vive" in expectation of a certain forthcoming work, &c. &c. &c.—that "disclosures of a very extraordinary character" were being looked for—"attempts had been made to suppress," &c. &c.—"compromising certain distinguished," &c., and so forth; all these paragraphs being in the unquestionable [!] editorial style, and genuine [!] indications of a mysterious under-current of curiosity and excitement, existing in those regions which were watched with reverential awe and constancy by the occupants of the lower regions. As time advanced, more frequent became these titillations of the public palate—more distinct these intimations of what was going forward, and might be shortly expected, from the appearance of the long-promised work. Take for instance the following, which ran the round of every newspaper, and wrought up to a high pitch the curiosity of three-fourths of the fools in the country:—
"The efforts made to deprive the public of the interesting and peculiar scenes contained in the forthcoming novel, and—in short—to suppress it, have entirely failed, owing to the resolution of the gifted author, and the determination of the spirited publisher; and their only effect has been to accelerate the appearance of the work. It will bear the exciting and piquant title—'Tippetiwink;' and is said to be founded on the remarkable circumstances attending the recent trial of a great ejectment cause at York. More than one noble family's history is believed to be involved in some of the details which will be found in the forthcoming publication, for which, we are assured, there are already symptoms of an unprecedented demand. The 'favored few' who have seen it, predict that it will produce a prodigious sensation. The happy audacity with which facts are adhered to, will, we trust, not lead to the disagreeable consequences that appear to be looked for, in certain quarters, with no little anxiety and dismay. When we announce that its author is the gifted writer of 'The Silver Spoons'—'Spinnach'—'The Pirouette'—'Tittle-Tattle'—'Fitz-Giblets'—'Squint,' &c. &c. &c., we trust we are violating no literary confidence."
There was no resisting this sort of thing. In that day, a skilfully directed play of puffs laid prostrate the whole of the sagacious fashionable world; producing the excitement of which they affected to chronicle the existence. The artilleryman, in the present instance, was, in fact, a hack writer, hired by Mr. Bubble—in fact, kept by him entirely—to perform services of this degrading description—and he sat from morning to night in a back-room on Mr. Bubble's premises, engaged in spinning out these villanous and lying paragraphs concerning every work published, or about to be published, by Mr. Bubble. Then that gentleman hit upon another admirable device. He had seven hundred copies printed off; and allowing a hundred for a first edition, he varied the title-pages of each of the remaining six hundred by the words: "Second Edition"—"Third Edition"—"Fourth Edition"—"Fifth Edition"—"Sixth Edition"—and "Seventh Edition."
By the time, however, that the fourth edition had been announced, there existed a real rage for the book. The circulating libraries at the West End of the town were besieged by applicants for a perusal of the work; and "notices," "reviews," and "extracts," began to make their appearance with increasing frequency in the newspapers. The idea of the work was admirable. Tippetiwink, the hero, was a young gentleman of ancient family—an only child—kidnapped away in his infancy by the malignant agency of "the demon Mowbray," a distant relative, of a fierce temper and wicked character, who by these means had succeeded to the enjoyment of the estate, and would have come, in time, to the honors and domains of the most ancient and noble family in the kingdom, that of the Earl of Frizzleton. Poor Tippetiwink was at length, however, discovered by his illustrious kinsman, by mere accident, in an obscure capacity, in the employ of a benevolent linen-draper, Black-bag, who was described as one of the most amiable and generous of linen-drapers; and, after a series of wonderful adventures, in which the hero displayed the most heroic constancy, the earl succeeded in reinstating his oppressed and injured kinsman in the lofty station which he ought always to have occupied. His daughter—a paragon of female loveliness—the Lady Sapphira Sigh-away—evinced the deepest interest in the success of Tippetiwink; and at length—the happy result may be guessed by the astute and experienced novel-reader. Out of these few and natural incidents, Mr. Bladdery Pip was pronounced at length, by those (i. e. the aforesaid newspaper scribes) who govern, if they do not indeed constitute, PUBLIC OPINION, to have produced an imperishable record of his genius; avoiding all the faults, and combining all the excellences, of all his former productions. The identity between Titmouse and Tippetiwink, Lord Dreddlington and Lord Frizzleton, Lady Cecilia and Lady Sapphira, and Mr. Aubrey and the "demon Mowbray," was quickly established. The novel passed speedily into the tenth edition! An undoubted, and a very great sensation was produced; extracts descriptive of the persons, particularly that of Titmouse, and the earl, and Lady Cecilia, figuring in the story, were given in the London papers, and thence transferred into those all over the country. The very author of the book, Mr. Bladdery Pip, became a prodigious LION, and dressing himself in the most elaborate and exquisite style, had his portrait, looking most intensely intellectual, prefixed to the tenth edition. Then came portraits of "Tittlebat Titmouse, Esq.," (for which he had never sat,) giving him large melting eyes, a very pensive face, and a most fashionable appearance. The Earl of Dreddlington and Lady Cecilia became also a lion and lioness. Hundreds of opera-glasses were directed, at once, to their opera-box; innumerable were the anxious salutations they received as they drove round the Park—and round it they went three or four times as often as they had ever done before. 'Twas whispered that the king had read the book, and drank the earl's health, under the name of Lord Frizzleton—while the queen did the same for Lady Cecilia as Lady Sapphira. Their appearance produced a manifest sensation at both the levee and drawing-room.—Majesty looked blander than usual as they approached. Poor Lord Dreddlington, and Lady Cecilia, mounted in a trice into the seventh heaven of rapturous excitement; for there was that buoyant quality about their heads which secured them a graceful and rapid upward motion. They were both unutterably happy; living in a gentle delicious tumult of exalted feeling. Irrepressible exultation glistened in the earl's eyes; he threw an infinite deal of blandness and courtesy into his manners wherever he was, and whomsoever he addressed; as if he could now easily afford it, confident in the inaccessible sublimity of his position. It was slightly laughable to observe, however, the desperate efforts he made to maintain his former frigid composure of manner—but in vain; his nervousness looked almost like a sudden, though gentle accession of St. Vitus's dance. Innumerable were the inquiries after Titmouse—his person—his manners—his character—his dress, made of Lady Cecilia by her friends. Young ladies tormented her for his autograph. 'T was with her as if the level surface of the Dead Sea had been stirred by the freshening breeze.