powers, the Captain floored the said descendant of gentleness, thereby ably illustrating the precise difference of the “real and ideal.”

THE HEIR OF APPLEBITE.

CHAPTER II.

SHOWS HOW AGAMEMNON BECAME DISGUSTED WITH NUMBER ONE, AND THE AWFUL CONSEQUENCES WHICH SUCCEEDED.

Poor old John’s alarm was succeeded by astonishment, for without speaking a word, Agamemnon bounced into his bed-chamber. He thought the room the most miserable-looking room he had ever entered, though the floor was covered with a thick Turkey carpet, a bright fire was blazing in the grate, and everything about seemed fashioned for comfort. He threw himself into an easy chair, and kicking off one of his pumps, crossed his legs, and rested his elbow on the table. He looked at his bed—it was a French one—a mountain of feathers, covered with a thick, white Marseilles quilt, and festooned over with a drapery of rich crimson damask.

“I’ll have a four-post to-morrow,” growled Collumpsion; “French beds are mean-looking things, after all. Stuffwell has the fellow-chair to this—one chair does look strange! I wonder it has never struck me before; but it is surprising—what—strange ide—as a man—has”—and Collumpsion fell asleep.

It was broad day when Collumpsion awoke; the fire had gone out, and his feet were as cold as ice. He (as he is married there’s no necessity for concealment)—he swore two or three naughty oaths, and taking off his clothes, hurried into bed in the hope of getting warm.

“How confoundedly cold I am—sitting in that chair all night, too—ridiculous. If I had had a—I mean, if I hadn’t been alone, that wouldn’t have happened; she would have waked me.” She—what the deuce made him use the feminine pronoun!

At two o’clock he rose and entered his breakfast-room. The table was laid as usual—one large cup and saucer, one plate, one egg-cup, one knife, and one fork! He did not know wherefore, but he felt to want the number increased. John brought up a slice of broiled salmon and one egg. Collumpsion got into a passion, and ordered a second edition. The morning was rainy, so Collumpsion remained at home, and employed himself by kicking about the ottoman, and mentally multiplying all the single articles in his establishment by two.

The dinner hour arrived, and there was the same singular provision for one. He rang the bell, and ordered John to furnish the table for another. John obeyed, though not without some strong misgiving of his master’s sanity, as the edibles consisted of a sole, a mutton chop, and a partridge. When John left the room at his master’s request, Collumpsion rose and locked the door. Having placed a chair opposite, he resumed his seat, and commenced a series of pantomimic gestures, which were strongly confirmatory of John’s suspicions. He seemed to be holding an inaudible conversation with some invisible being, placing the choicest portion of the sole in a plate, and seemingly desiring John to deliver it to the unknown. As John was not there, he placed it before himself, and commenced daintily and smilingly picking up very minute particles, as though he were too much delighted to eat. He then bowed and smiled, and extending his arm, appeared to fill the opposite glass, and having actually performed the same operation with his own, he bowed and smiled again, and sipped the brilliant Xeres. He then rang the bell violently, and unlocking the door, rushed rapidly back to his chair, as though he were fearful of committing a rudeness by leaving it. The table being replenished, and John again dismissed the room, the same pantomime commenced. The one mutton chop seemed at first to present an obstacle to the proper conduct of the scene; but gracefully uncovering the partridge, and as gracefully smiling towards the invisible, he appeared strongly to recommend the bird in preference to the beast. Dinner at length concluded, he rose, and apparently led his phantom guest from the table, and then returning to his arm-chair, threw himself into it, and, crossing his hands upon his breast, commenced a careful examination of the cinders and himself. His rumination ended in a doze, and his doze in a dream, in which he fancied himself a Brobdignag Java sparrow during the moulting season. His cage was surrounded by beautiful and blooming girls, who seemed to pity his condition, and vie with each other in proposing the means of rendering him more comfortable. Some spoke of elastic cotton shirts, linsey-wolsey jackets, and silk nightcaps; others of merino hose, silk feet and cotton tops, shirt-buttons and warming-pans; whilst Mrs. Greatgirdle and Mrs. Waddledot sang an echo duet of “What a pity the bird is alone.”