He was always in love, of course; every
human nat'ral phenomenon is. And he was
always in love with a large woman; I never
knowed the Dwarf as could be got to love a
small one. Which helps to keep 'em the
Curiosities they are.

One sing'ler idea he had in that Ed of his,
which must have meant something, or il
wouldn't have been there. It was always his
opinion that he was entitled to property.
He never would put his name to anything.
He had been taught to write, by the young
man without arms, who got his living
with his toes (quite a writing-master he
was, and taught scores in the line), but
Chops would have starved to death, afore
he'd have gained a bit of bread by putting
his hand to a paper. This is the more curious
to bear in mind, because HE had no property,
nor hope of property, except his house and a
sarser. When I say his house, I mean the
box, painted and got up outside like a reg'lar
six-roomer, that he used to creep into, with a
diamond ring (or quite as good to look at) on
his forefinger, and ring a little bell out of
what the Public believed to be the Drawing-room
winder. And when I say a sarser, I
mean a Chancy sarser in which he made a
collection for himself at the end of every
Entertainment. His cue for that, he took
from me: " Ladies and gentlemen, the little
man will now walk three times round the
Cairawan, and retire behind the curtain."
When he said anything important, in private
life, he mostly wound it up with this form of
words, and they was generally the last thing
he said to me at night afore he went to bed.

He had what I consider a fine mind—a
poetic mind. His ideas respectin his
property, never come upon him so strong as
when he sat upon a barrel-organ and had the
handle turned. Arter the wibration had
run through him a little time, he would
screech out, " Toby, I feel my property
coming—grind away! I'm counting my
guineas by thousands, Toby—grind away!
Toby, I shall be a man of fortun! I feel
the Mint a jingling in me, Toby, and I'm
swelling out into the Bank of England!"
Such is the influence of music on a poetic
mind. Not that he was partial to any other
music but a barrel-organ; on the contrairy,
hated it.

He had a kind of a everlasting grudge
agin the Public: which is a thing you may
notice in many phenomenons that get their
living out of it. What riled him most in the
nater of his occupation was, that it kep him
out of Society. He was continiwally sayin,
"Toby, my ambition is, to go into Society.
The curse of my position towards the Public,
is, that it keeps me hout of Society. This
don't signify to a low beast of a Indian; he
an't formed for Society. This don't signify
to a Spotted Baby; he an't formed for
Society. I am."

Nobody never could make out what Chops
done with his money. He had a good salary,
down on the drum every Saturday as the day
come round, besides having the run of his
teeth—and he was a Woodpecker to eat—but
all Dwarfs are. The sarser was a little
income, bringing him in so many halfpence
that he'd carry 'em, for a week together, tied
up in a pocket handkercher. And yet he
never had money. And it couldn't be the
Fat Lady from Norfolk, as was once
supposed; because it stands to reason that when
you have a animosity towards a Indian which
makes you grind your teeth at him to his face,
and which can hardly hold you from Goosing
him audible when he's going through his
War-Dance—it stands to reason you wouldn't
under them circumstances deprive yourself,
to support that Indian in the lap of luxury.

Most unexpected, the mystery come out
one day at Eghirm Eaces. The Public was
shy of bein pulled in, and Chops was riugin
his little bell out of his drawing-room winder,
and was snarlin to me over his shoulder as
he kneeled down with his legs out at the
back-door—for he couldn't be shoved into
his house without kneeling down, and the
premises wouldn't accommodate his legs—
was snarlin, "Here's a precious Public for
you; why the Devil don't they tumble up?"
when a man in the crowd holds up a
carrier-pigeon, and cries out, " If there's any person
here as has got a ticket, the Lottery's just
drawed, and the number as has come up for
the great prize is three, seven, forty-two!
Three, seven, forty-two!" I was givin the
man to the Furies myself, for calling off the
Public's attention—for the Public will turn
away, at any time, to look at anything in
preference to the thing showed 'em; and if you
doubt it, get 'em together for any indiwidual
purpose on the face of the earth, and send only
two people in late, and see if the whole company
an't far more interested in takin particular
notice of them two than of you—I say, I
wasn't best pleased with the man for callin
out, and, wasn't blessin him in my own mind,
when I see Chops's little bell fly out of
winder at a old lady, and he gets up and
kicks his box over, exposin the whole secret,
and he catches hold of the calves of my legs
and he says to me, " Carry me into the wan,
Toby, and throw a pail of water over me or
I'm a dead man, for I've come into my
property!"

Twelve thousand odd hundred pound, was
Chops's winnins. He had bought a
half-ticket for the twenty-five thousand prize, and
it had come up. The first use he made of
his property, was, to offer to fight the Wild
Indian for five hundred pound a side, him
with a poisoned darnin-needle and the Indian
with a club; but the Indian bein in want of
backers to that amount, it went no further.

Arter he had been mad for a week—in a
state of mind, in short, in which, if I had let
him sit on the organ for only two minutes,
I believe he would have bust—but we kep