interest; hardly noticed his darling child! He
had left off reading, and nothing seemed to
have power to distract the gloomy thoughts
that weighed upon him, except, strange to say,
that very paper which I had just thrown down
in disgust! The result of my cogitations was,
that I would never quit that apartment until I
had coaxed or wrung from dear John the cause
of his melancholy. Hardly had I taken this
resolution, when I heard his listless step in the
passage. Before he had fairly crossed the
threshold, I attacked him:

"John, dear John, what is the matter? Oh,
John, how changed you are!"

"Stuff, dear—changed?"

"You've something or other on your mind."

"Most people have."

"I've watched you day and night."

"I'm very much obliged to you, my dear."

"And I've found—"

"Found out what?" asked John, sharply.

"That you've lost your usual habits, taken to
cigars, acquired a distaste for the nursery; yes,
grown careless about your darling child, our
own Topsy-wopsy-pips. If I mention that he
has cut another pretty toosens, you look as
bewildered as if I had addressed you in Chinese.
Oh, John, my husband," I continued, warming as
I proceeded, " what is the meaning of this fearful
apathy? Tell me, I entreat, I conjure you."

"Don't be a goose, Cissy," was the rather
rude reply. "You'll break your hoop. But,
set your heart at rest, my dear; you shall know
all. I have been for some time anxiously
expecting a visitor. Something, I much fear, has
befallen him."

"Do you mean an accident in the train?"

"Hem—yes—the train. He promised to give
me notice by letter, as he might possibly have a
companion, a very interesting young person, of
whom great expectations are entertained."

"Who is your friend?" I inquired.

"A man of considerable weight, my dear."

"A public man?"

"Very decidedly so," said my husband,
quickly. " I may say, an extremely public
individual."

"Is he a person of property, John? What
is the name of his place?"

"His place? Place? Oh, Something Court,
I fancy. He wrote the address with his own
hand, but I fear I've lost it."

"Dear me!" I exclaimed, "can it be that
very dirty card Benjamin picked up in the hall?
Here it is, on the mantelpiece. But what an
odd hand your friend writes! F. I. D.—Fiddle-court,
Por—Por—tugal. Does he live in
Portugal, John?"

"His town mansion, my love, is in Portugal-lane,
Haymarket, central situation, close to
Parliament, the Post-office, and—eh?—in short,
a good deal more."

"And here's his actual name— 'B. I. G.—
Bigge Brooser.' " (I paused a moment, fancying
I had heard that name before.)

At this moment Benjamin came in with a
letter for my husband. It was in the
handwriting of his brother Adolphus, the vicar of
Forlingham: a parish of the same name as our
own, which circumstance leads to much confusion
of letters.

John skimmed a few lines hastily, then burst
into irrepressible laughter.

"Ha! ha! ha! Excellent! Hurrah! Here's
the whole explanation. Dear old Dolly! Just
listen:

"Mv DEAR BROTHER,—The enclosed extraordinary
communication having been misdirected hither,
was opened by me. The language employed by your
correspondent is sufficiently obscure. I can, however,
understand that he proposes to set out immediately
on a ' purfeshonal toor' in your county—that he has
called to mind your invitation to take pot-luck at
what he describes as your 'ken' (a word certainly
beyond mine!), and requests you to knock him up a
crib ' anywheres convenient.'

"He appears to be accompanied by an individual
whom he terms 'his Novice,' and I regard it as a
redeeming feature in this man's rude character that
he should evince a tender, almost womanly, solicitude
for the unfortunate young creature so singularly
confided to his care.

"His charge respecting the airing the Novice's
bed, and the preparation of nightly ' swizzle' (some
species of anodyne, I take it), should in any case be
borne in mind, and his gratified allusion to his
protégé's ' condition' (meaning, I suppose, lungs),
indicate the removal of some apprehensions on the
score of delicacy of constitution.

"It would be affectation to deny that the name
appended to this remarkable document—Bigge
Brooser—is not wholly unfamiliar to me, nor will I
pretend to be ignorant that the letters C.C.W. and
B.H. may possibly signify ' Champion of the
Catch-Weights, and Holder of the Belt;' but, my dear
brother, I should ill perform my duty did I not—
hm—hm—affectionately admonish— hm—hm
debasing associations . . . . Of the Novice I can say
nothing. The situation of this young and interesting
creature will be a sufficient appeal to the sensibilities
of dear Cecilia. I need not, therefore, recommend
him to her generous care—hm— hm— retiring youth
—harmless inmate—hm—affectionate brother,
"ALDOLPHUS."

"John! John!" I exclaimed, sinking into the
chair, " it's a prize-fighter!"

"You are right, my dear, it is," replied my
husband, quite coolly. " And then?"

"They always beat their wives."

"On the contrary, their wives are the only
people who can beat them."

"And all have broken noses."

"Nature has provided that Mr. Brooser's, at
least, should be unsusceptible of further flattening."

"They use such bad, strange language. But
what I most decidedly object to, is the bringing
up of boys to this profession who might not
have selected it for themselves. That I never,
never could forgive! Think of Tiddlepops."

"Think of a mopstick! It's always a man's
own choice. All the laws in the world can't
make a man a boxer, nor all the laws in the
world prevent it. He's born into the ring, like
a poet to Parnassus; pugilism lays a maternal
hand upon him, and claims him. He slips into