a Debating Society arose. When he asked
what should such fellows as he do crawling
between earth and heaven, he was encouraged
with loud cries of 'Hear, hear!"  When he
appeared with his stocking disordered (its
disorder expressed, according to usage, by one very
neat fold in the top, which I suppose to be always
got up with a flat iron), a conversation took place
in the gallery respecting the paleness of his leg,
and whether it was occasioned by the turn the
ghost had given him. On his taking the
recorders— very like a little black flute that had
just been played in the orchestra and handed
out at the door— he was called upon unanimously
for Rule Britannia. When he recommended
the player not to saw the air thus, the
sulky man said, "And don't you do it, neither;
you're a deal worse than him!"   And I grieve
to add that peals of laughter greeted
Mr. Wopsle on every one of these occasions.

But his greatest trials were in the churchyard:
which had the appearance of a primeval forest,
with a kind of small ecclesiastical wash-house on
one side and a turnpike-gate on the other.
Mr. Wopsle in a comprehensive black cloak being
descried entering at the turnpike, the gravedigger
was admonished in a friendly way, "Look out!
Here's the undertaker a coming to see how you're
a getting on with your work!"   I believe it is
well known in a constitutional country that
Mr. Wopsle could not possibly have returned the
skull, after moralising over it, without dusting
his fingers on a white napkin taken from his
breast; but even that innocent and indispensable
action did not pass without the comment
"Wai-ter!"   The arrival of the body for
interment, in an empty black box with the lid
tumbling open, was the signal for a general joy
which was much enhanced by the discovery,
among the bearers, of an individual obnoxious to
identification. The joy attended Mr. Wopsle
through his struggle with Laertes on the brink
of the orchestra and the grave, and slackened
no more until he had tumbled the king off the
kitchen-table, and died by inches from the ankles
upward.

We had made some pale efforts in the beginning
to applaud Mr. Wopsle;  but they were
too hopeless to be persisted in. Therefore we
had sat, feeling keenly for him, but laughing,
nevertheless, from ear to ear. I laughed in
spite of myself all the time, the whole thing was
so droll; and yet I had a latent impression that
there was something decidedly fine in Mr. Wopsle's
elocution— not for old associations'
sake, I am afraid, but because it was very slow,
very dreary, very up-hill and down-hill, and very
unlike any way in which any man in any natural
circumstances of life or death ever expressed
himself about anything. When the tragedy was
over, and he had been called for and hooted, I
said to Herbert, "Let us go at once, or perhaps
we shall meet him."

We made all the haste we could down stairs,
but we were not quick enough either. Standing
at the door was a Jewish man with an unnaturally
heavy smear of eyebrow, who caught my
eye as we advanced, and said, when we came up
with him:

"Mr. Pip and friend?"

Identity of Mr. Pip and friend confessed.

"Mr. Waldengarver," said the man, " would
be glad to have the honour."

"Waldengarver?" I repeated— when Herbert
murmured in my ear, " Probably Wopsle."

"Oh!" said I.  "Yes. Shall we follow you?"

"A few steps, please."  When we were in a
side alley, he turned and asked, "How did you
think he looked?— I dressed him."

I don't know what he had looked like, except
a funeral; with the addition of a large Danish sun
or star hanging round his neck by a blue ribbon,
that had given him the appearance of being
insured in some extraordinary Fire Office. But I
said he had looked very nice.

"When he come to the grave," said our
conductor, "he showed his cloak beautiful. But,
judging from the wing, it looked to me that
when he see the ghost in the queen's apartment,
he might have made more of his stockings."

I modestly assented, and we all fell through
a little dirty swing-door, into a sort of hot
packing-case immediately behind it. Here
Mr. Wopsle was divesting himself of his Danish
garments, and here there was just room for
us to look at him over one another's shoulders,
by keeping the packing-case door, or lid, wide
open.

"Gentlemen," said Mr. Wopsle, "I am
proud to see you. I hope, Mr. Pip, you will
excuse my sending round. I had the happiness
to know you in former times, and the Drama
has ever had a claim which has ever been
acknowledged, on the noble and the affluent."

Meanwhile, Mr. Waldengarver, in a frightful
perspiration, was trying to get himself out of
his princely sables.

"Skin the stockings off Mr. Waldengarver,"
said the owner of that property, " or you'll bust
'em. Bust 'em, and you'll bust five-and-thirty
shillings. Shakespeare never was complimented
with a finer pair. Keep quiet in your chair
now, and leave 'em to me."

With that, he went upon his knees, and began
to flay his victim; who, on the first stocking
coming off, would certainly have fallen over
backward with his chair, but for there being no
room to fall anyhow.

I had been afraid until then to say a word
about the play. But then, Mr. Waldengarver
looked up at us complacently, and said:

"Gentlemen, how did it seem to you, to go,
in front?"

Herbert said from behind (at the same time
poking me), "capitally."  So I said " capitally."

"How did you like my reading of the
character, gentlemen?" said Mr. Waldengarver,
almost, if not quite, with patronage.

Herbert said from behind (again poking me),
"massive and concrete." So I said boldly, as
if I had originated it, and must insist upon it,
"massive and concrete."

"I am glad to have your approbation,
gentlemen," said Mr. Waldengarver, with an air of