wall-wax. As before observed, the engraved portion
of the plate, not stopped out with Brunswick
black, is only covered with a delicate gold-leaf-looking
film of re-biting ground, which, thin
and delicate as it is, being nevertheless perfectly
laid, scorns the most desperate attack of the
acid; consequently the acid aforesaid is no
sooner poured upon the plate than it pops down
into the dots, taking their shine off in no time.
As in the case of the etching, so with the
engraving, minute particles of metal are torn
away, whence every dot is being enlarged by
this violent mode of proceeding on the part of
the acid. And very sharp and attentive work
is this re-biting, for all that Pickpeck wishes
to accomplish, though of such great importance,
is nevertheless — on steel—  almost of a momentary
nature in its working. An instant too Iong;
—nay, the winking of Pickpeck's eyelids — and
the work of days may be undone in half a second.
But fate is this time kind to Pickpeck; his re-biting
is a success. Nay, more, though Pickpeck,
in his anxiety to see a proof, starts off himself to
the steel and copper-plate printer at full speed
in the broiling sun, as though he were walking
for a heavy wager, his proofs are beautiful,
for all the nice operations of the skilful
"prover" are successful. Pickpeck would,
notwithstanding his toils, begin to feel a little
happy, were it not for that obliquity of vision on
the part of Bunglebutt; which circumstance fills
the heart of the engraver with misgivings. But
still he works on manfully, toning here,
burnishing a little there, and attending to all
the refinements of drawing in every part of
Bunglebutt's face, until he is enabled to submit
what is, as he flatters himself, a very satisfactory
finished proof. This, however, does not end the
woes of Pickpeck. The sons and daughters of
Bunglebutt — to say nothing of the wife of
Bunglebutt's bosom — all make their remarks upon the
engraving. These remarks are highly complimentary
to Bunglebutt, and, as a natural consequence,
very uncomplimentary to the engraver.
The prodigious Bunglebutt himself writes a letter
of remarks. This letter fills four pages of the
largest cream-laid note-paper. The writing is very
small and very close, and the remarks are directed
at the inartistic manner in which Pickpeck has
rendered the expression of "the left-hand eye."

To speak in plain and honest English, Pickpeck
believes that the obliquity of Bunglebutt's
left eye is a positive squint — an uncompromising
squint; and that he has rendered its
expression perfectly, even to its most subtle
refinements of drawing. However, the Bunglebutt
family perceive in "the left-hand eye" of their
great papa — the real live eye — only "a stern
expression of deep meditation, combined with a
profundity of philosophical thought." Upon that,
Bunglebutt criticises, in three pages of closely
written note-paper of the largest size, the refinement
of expression to be observed in what he calls
"the left-hand eye;" all of which intellectual
expression, in the united opinion of the Bunglebutt
family, he, Pickpeck, has entirely missed. After
this, nothing is left for Pickpeck but to throw, as
well as he can, his whole soul into the soul of
Bunglebutt, and to do his best to coax and coquet
with that same left-hand eye, engraving divers
dots, first a little on this side, then a little on that
side, then a trifle above, then a trifle below:
with a few very refined dots placed in the very
apple of "the left-hand eye" itself. After doing
all this, there are more journeys to the steel and
copper-plate printer, and more finished proofs to
be submitted, to be followed by more criticism;
for the Bunglebutt family think a great deal of the
"profundity of philosophical thought" which
they perceive in that parental "left-hand eye."
a most evil eye to Pickpeck. But all this
monstrous long time the panting public are
clamouring with frenzy for the twenty-second
and much-augmented edition of "Our empty
Coal-cellars, and What's to fill them?"
embellished with the portrait of the author, which
was to have been engraved "like a flash of
lightning," but is not done yet.

Consequently a finished proof has to be
submitted for a third time, and has to be a third time
criticised; this necessitates a fourth finished
proof, which, although the Bunglebutt family
still think the engraver has not quite entered
into all the depths of expression to be observed
in "the left-hand eye," is happily accepted by
them: while, taken altogether, they admit the
engraving to be a very nice engraving, which will
doubtless be received by the panting public as a
decided adornment to "Our empty Coal-cellars,
and What's to fill them?"

                   A MERE SCRATCH.

       IN EIGHT CHAPTERS.  CHAPTER VI.

THE worthy butler had been right; but not
sufficiently right. Miss Vann's faintishness
had deepened into a swoon, and her aunt's
chamber, to which she had been carried, was a
scene of some anxiety. As she regained
consciousness, however, Mrs. Turnover gradually
cleared the apartment of all extraneous company,
and the consequence was that Esther's first
accents, on recovering her faculties, were heard
by her aunt alone. Scarcely had the bright
eyes reopened, when they were filled with a
wild alarm.

"Is — is he — aunt, tell me—  is he safe?" she
gasped.

"Yes — yes, dear—  safe enough," Mrs. Tarnover
hastened to reply. "Keep quiet, I hear Mr.
Fanshaw——- " She went to the door and called
softly. Mr. Fanshaw's voice was heard in faint
response. "Is master bit? That brute's fangs
ain't touched him at all, have they ':"

To this leading question Mr. Fanshaw was
fortunately able to reply in good faith:

"No, Mrs. Turnover. Make yourself quite
heasy, ma'am. They have not."

Esther's ears had caught the welcome word.

"God be praised!" she uttered, fervently
then, once more turning deadly white, sank
back upon the pillow.

Mrs. Turnover administered new restoratives,
and soon saw the colour returning.

"Well, you are a one, I must say," the good
lady could not help remarking. "So bold