inhumed with the above lamented princess. As
we issued forth, I glanced with some anxiety at
my friend's countenance, deeming it not impossible
that the degree of depression to which we
had both been reduced might lead to a burst of
tearful confidence which would reveal all.

Suddenly his face lighted up. He paused
before the entrance to one of the smaller
exhibitions.

"Let us enter," said Bobby, grasping my arm.

We paid a shilling each. I followed my
friend into a large apartment on the ground
floor. There was a sort of dais in the centre,
upon the dais a huge chair, and, on that chair,
the very fattest individual I ever beheld. The
latter welcomed us with graceful ease, invited us
to perform the tour of his person, and then,
pointing to chairs, begged us to offer any
personal observations that might suggest themselves
to our minds.

The situation was not without its embarrassments.
The cheerful countenance of our mighty
host forbade all idea of condolence. On the
other hand, congratulations to a man in hopeless
captivity to his own fat were cruel and absurd.
No question occurred to me, beyond that which,
in the exhibition of other obese animals, is
commonly anticipated by means of a placard above
their heads—namely, what he had been fed upon?

Having ascertained that "'tators, tripe, and
sausages," were principally responsible for the
interesting result presented to us, we presently
took our leave.

The strange sight had not quitted Bob's
countenance during the whole interview. His eye was
brighter, his step more elastic than I had seen
for weeks past, as we took our westward way.

"And this man is not unhappy," said Bob,
musingly. "He smiles. He is jocular. He
acquiesces in a bodily formation only
distinguishable from the purely spherical, by those two
fat appanages it affords him a melancholy
satisfaction to call his 'legs.' No remorse visits
his, I cannot say, pillow—for he never goes to
bed—but the back of his easy-chair, on account
of those early excesses, that reprehensible
indulgence in—what did he say?—tripes and
sausages, that singular predilection for the interior
of other animals which has proved so fatally
nutritious to his own. He has broken no
affectionate ties; he has estranged no friend. He,
on the contrary, adds daily to their number, and
a shilling apiece, besides. Why, then, should
I—"

"Gennleman, sir, gi' a poor boy a hap'ny!"
bellowed one of those young highwaymen the
law hath hitherto forborne, charging viciously at
Bobby with his muddy broom. But for this
assault, I should have penetrated Bob's secret on
the spot. As it was, a few days more elapsed.

I was dining one evening at my friend's chambers
when a large brown paper parcel made its
appearance. Bob turned pale, and laid down
his knife and fork. He passed the napkin over
his forehead, and appeared to collect himself.
Then he opened the parcel, and fell back in his
chair. I glanced at the contents, which seemed
to consist of nothing more terrible than a new
light paletot, forwarded, according to an address
on the paper, by an eminent tailor.

"Away with it! Hide it from my sight!"
cried Bob, with a palpable shudder, sinking his
face in his hands.

I flung the parcel on the furthest sofa.

"It is the death-warrant," said Bob, presently
looking up, with a ghastly smile, "of my hopes.
George, my boy, the struggle is over. But you
will not desert me, George" (the good fellow
stretched over and grasped my hand).
"Companion of my light and careless youth, to you it
makes no difference whether your friend—is
—you know—or—But I see you do not
clearly comprehend."

Bob paused for a moment, then recommenced.
"It is now some eight months since, while
attached—and very warmly so—to the Yawhaw
Office, that I first became conscious of a slight
difficulty in buttoning my coat. Willing to
believe that this was due to some accidental
shrinking of the cloth, or other extraneous
cause, I simply had the button altered. Again,
in a few days, the difficulty recurred; nay, other
garments—my vest, the waistband of my
trousers—began to evince a similar reluctance
to meet on the usual easy terms. It was
useless to shut my eyes to the miserable fact. I
was growing fat, and that with startling rapidity.
Eight hours a day at my desk had done the
business. What could I do? I was inclined
to work, attached to my department. I felt
within me no ordinary powers of—of—copying.
My aunt allows me but one hundred a year.
Resign I could not. A martyr to my duty to the
public, and to myself, I clung to my desk until
dislodged, as you are aware, by the officious
and unparliamentary comments of Mr. Angus
Mcltchery. But, alas! the mischief was done.
Day by day, hour by hour, adds something to
my weight. You must have—eh?—seen it—eh,
George?" asked poor Bob, piteously.

I was obliged to confess that I had.

"They have fattened me," said Bob, with
intense pathos, "only to kill."

"No, no, Bob."

"You will see. Well, sir, I was resolved to
know the very worst. Face my tailors I could
not. They are remarkably fastidious men. I
wrote to the firm, humbly, appealingly, 'Gentlemen,
I enclose you a careful measurement of
what was but recently recognised by you as my
waist. If such proportions will not utterly
disgrace a frock-coat of your design—send me one.
If otherwise, then forward to me a paletot suited
to my misfortune.' Behold their answer."

With an effort, Bob rose, walked to the sofa,
seized, and shook out the paletot. The wide
folds expressed but too eloquently the strength
of the opinion entertained by Messrs. Stilts, on
the case of their unhappy client.

"But, tcha! that is not the worst, old
fellow," resumed Bob. "Vain I am not. At any
other period of my life, I might defy my flesh
to do its worst. I have, indeed, always looked
forward to a certain amount of obesity, as the