gentleman—Old maid faints—Battle of Broadway—An Irish funeral procession—One cent short—The journey's end—Overdale's juggling—Johnny Cake drunk—An examination of Johnny's companion—How he lived

JOHNNY CAKE'S FIRST SPREE.

Johnny's fall—He goes into the Bowery—An artistic barkeeper—The fly—A Kansas official—Johnny Cake's delusion—A Chatham street auction—Johnny's sensation—The gift enterprise—Dropper's dream and hopes of success—The realization—Who didn't win

THE POLICE COURTS.

Visit to Essex Market—Peculiarities of Edward Bobber—Palmerston hook the eel-catcher—The poet in Limbo—Warbles moralises—A German witness—The oath—Disturbed by cats—Mysterious caterwaulings—The mystery explained—Bad liquor—A Tombs lawyer—His retainer—An Irish wake—An eccentric corpse—A free fight—The corpse in court—The case concluded—Timothy Mulrooney—Michael's virtues—Timothy's cat—Mr. Blobb—A knowing officer—Old Dog Tray—Blobb discharged—Quackenbush confesses—Quackenbush forgiven

THE HAMLET NIGHT.

Attempt to swindle the darling public—The ghost—A small Hamlet and large Queen—The ghost in an overcoat—The death scene—Overdale's ideas—An unappreciative boy—Inconsistencies—Clockwork legs—A complicated case

MRS. THROUGHBY DAYLIGHT'S FANCY DRESS JAM.

A complicated case—Mr. Spout's offer—Dropper bewildered—Spout expatiates upon the genius of Brown—The Turk and Choctaw—The fancy dress jam—The Elephants at the fancy dress jam—The result

CONCLUSION.

The club in danger—Resolutions—The records of the club—Their compilation—The last of the Elephant Club

[Enter with a Flourish of Trumpets.]

Shakespeare.

THERE were no two horses to be seen winding along the base of a precipitous hill; and there were no dark-looking riders on those horses which were not to be seen; and it wasn't at the close of a dusky autumn evening; and the setting sun didn't gild, with his departing rays, the steep summit of the mountain tops; and the gloomy cry of the owl was not to be heard from the depths of a neighboring forest—first, because there wasn't any neighboring forest, and, second, because the owl was in better business, having, some hours before, gone to bed, it now being broad daylight. The mountain tops, the lofty summits, the inaccessible precipices, the precipitous descents, the descending inaccessibilities, and the usual quantity of insurmountable landscape, which forms the stereotyped opening to popular romances, is here omitted by particular request.

The time and place to which the unfortunate reader's attention is particularly called, are four o'clock of a melting afternoon in August, and a labyrinth of bricks and mortar, yclept Gotham. The majority of the inhabitants of the aforesaid place, at the identical time herein referred to, were perspiring; others were sweltering; still others were melting down into their boots, and the remainder were dying from sun-stroke.

At this time, a young gentleman seated himself behind the front window of the reading and smoking-room of the Shanghae Hotel, in Broadway. The chair he occupied was capacious, and had been contrived originally, by ingenious mechanics, for the purpose of inducing laziness. The gentleman had taken possession of this article of furniture for the double purpose of resting himself from the fatigues of a month's inactivity, and also securing a position where he could see the ladies pass and repass, in hopes that the sight might dispel the dull monotony of a hotel life in the city, during summer. On this occasion, to secure additional ease, the individual had adopted the American attitude of raising his feet to a level with his head, by placing them upon a cast-iron fender behind the window—an attitude, by the way, not particularly characterized by its classic grace.

There was nothing remarkable in the dress of the person to whom we have alluded. He was evidently a victim to the popular insanity of conforming to fashion. So strictly were his garments cut and made in accordance with the prevailing style, no one could doubt for a moment that the taste, or want of taste, manifested in his dress, was not his own, but the tailor's. In his hand he held a small cane, with which he amused himself, first, by biting the ivory head, then by making it turn summer-saults through the fingers of his right hand, after the manner in which Hibernians are supposed to exercise their shillelahs.

Whether the activity in the streets, the appearance of the ladies with every variety of dress, or the gymnastic eccentricities of his cane, were particularly entertaining, is very questionable; certain it is, that the expression of his eyes showed gradually less and less of animation. By degrees his eyelids closed. His head soon vibrated with an irregular motion, until it found a support against the back of the chair. His hat fell from his head, and his cane dropped from his fingers. His muscles became fully relaxed. He was, undeniably, asleep.

He had been sleeping nearly a half hour, when an individual, who was walking leisurely down Broadway, casually glanced in the window of the Shanghae, where our first person singular was sleeping, with more seeming comfort than real elegance of position. He seemed struck with the appearance of the sleeper, and pausing for a brief time to survey his form, contorted, as it was, into all sorts of geometrical irregularities, curves, angles, and indescribable shapes, he entered the hotel, passed around into the room where the sleeper was, and did not stop until at his side. He again stood for a moment, silently contemplating the form and features of the sleep-bound stranger.

The second person was also singular. He was, apparently, about twenty-five years of age, with a full, florid, and expressive face. His body was quite rotund, even to corpulency; and, save a heavy moustache, his face was closely shaven. His clothes were of the thinnest material, and well adapted to secure comfort during the hot season. His expression, as he stood watching the first