The Captain, after bowing his head with great reverence, stared all round the circle, beginning with Mr. Toots, and ending with the Instrument-Maker: then gravely said :

"Sol Gills! The observation as I'm a-going to make is calc'lated to blow every stitch of sail as you can carry, clean out of the bolt ropes, and bring you on your beam ends with a lurch. Not one of them letters was ever delivered to Ed'ard Cuttle. Not one o' them letters," repeated the Captain, to make his declaration the more solemn and impressive," was ever delivered unto Ed'ard Cuttle, Mariner of England, as lives at home at ease, and doth improve each shining hour!"

"And posted by my own hand! And directed by my own hand, Number nine Brig Place!" exclaimed Old Sol.

The color all went out of the Captain's face, and all came back again in a glow.

"What do you mean, Sol Gills, my friend, by Number nine Brig Place?" inquired the Captain.

"Mean? Your lodgings, Ned," returned the old man. "Mrs. What's-her-name! I shall forget my own name next, but I am behind the present time-I always was, you recollect -and very much confused. Mrs.-"

"Sol Gills!" said the Captain, as if he were putting the most improbable case in the world, "it ain't the name of MacStinger as you're a trying to remember?"

"Of course it is! exclaimed the Instrument-Maker. “To be sure, Ned. Mrs. MacStinger!"

Captain Cuttle, whose eyes were now as wide open as they could be, and the knobs upon whose face were perfectly luminous, gave a long shrill whistle of a most melancholy sound, and stood gazing at everybody in a state of speechlessness.

"Overhaul that there again, Sol Gills, will you be so kind?" he said at last.

"All these letters," returned Uncle Sol, beating time with the forefinger of his right hand upon the palm of his left, with a steadiness and distinctness that might have done honor, even to the infallible chronometer in his pocket, "I posted with my own hand, and directed with my own hand, to Captain Cuttle, at Mrs. MacStinger's, Number nine Brig Place."

The Captain took his glazed hat off his hook, looked into it, put it on, and sat down.

"Why, friends all," said the Captain, staring round in the last state of discomfiture, "I cut and run from there!"

"And no one knew where you were gone, Captain Cuttle?" cried Walter hastily.

"Bless your heart, Wal'r," said the Captain, shaking his head, "she'd never have allowed o' my coming to take charge o' this here property. Nothing could be done but cut and run. Lord love you, Wal'r!" said the Captain, "you've only seen her in a calm! But see her when her angry passions rise

and make a note on!"

"I'd give it her!" remarked the Nipper, softly.

"Would you, do you think, my dear?" returned the Captain with feeble admiration. "Well, my dear, it does you credit. But there ain't no wild animal I would sooner face myself. I only got my chest away by means of a friend as nobody's a match for. It was no good sending any letter there. She wouldn't take in any letter, bless you," said the Captain, "under them circumstances! Why, you could hardly make it worth a man's while to be the postman!"

"Then it's pretty clear, Captain Cuttle, that all of us, and you and Uncle Sol especially," said Walter, "may thank Mrs. MacStinger for no small anxiety.

The general obligation in this wise to the determined relict of the late Mr. MacStinger, was so apparent, that the Captain did not contest the point; but being in some measure ashamed of his position, though nobody dwelt upon the subject, and Walter especially avoided it, remembering the last conversation he and the Captain had held together respecting it, he remained under a cloud for nearly five minutes—an extraordinary period for him--when that sun, his face broke out once more, shining on all beholders with extraordinary brilliancy; and he fell into a fit of shaking hands with everybody over and over again.

At an early hour, but not before Uncle Sol and Walter had questioned each other at some length about their voyages and dangers, they all, except Walter, vacated Florence's room, and went down to the parlor. Here they were soon afterwards joined by Walter, who told them Florence was a little sorrowful and heavy-hearted, and had gone to bed. Though they could not have disturbed her with their voices down there, they all spoke in a whisper after this: and each, in his different way, felt very lovingly and gently towards Walter's fair young bride: and a long explanation there was of everything relating to her, for the satisfaction of Uncle Sol; and very sensible Mr. Toots was of the delicacy with which Walter made his name and services important, and his presence necessary to their little council.

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"Mr. Toots," said Walter, on parting with him at the house door, "we shall see each other to-morrow morning?"

"Lieutenant Walters," returned Mr. Toots, grasping his hand fervently," I shall certainly be present."

"This is the last night we shall meet for a long time-the last night we may ever meet," said Walter, "Such a noble heart as yours, must feel, I think, when another heart is bound to it. I hope you know that I am very grateful to you?"

"Walters," replied Mr. Toots, quite touched, "I should be glad to feel that you had reason to be so."

"Florence," said Walter, "on this last night of her bearing her own name, has made me promise-it was only just now, when you left us together-that I would tell you with her dear love "

Mr. Toots laid his hand upon the doorpost, and his eyes upon his hand.

"With her dear love," said Walter, "that she can never have a friend whom she will value above you. That the recollection of your true consideration for her always, can never be forgotten by her. That she remembers you in her prayers tonight, and hopes that you will think of her when she is far away. Shall I say anything for you?"

Say, Walters," replied Mr. Toots indistinctly, "that I shall think of her every day, but never without feeling happy to know that she is married to the man she loves, and who loves her. Say, if you please, that I am sure her husband deserves her —even her!—and that I am glad of her choice."

Mr. Toots got more distinct as he came to these last words, and raising his eyes from the door-post, said them stoutly. He then shook Walter's hand again with a fervor that Walter was not slow to return, and started homeward.

Mr. Toots was accompanied by the Chicken, whom he had of late brought with him every evening, and left in the shop, with an idea that unforeseen circumstances might arise from without, in which the prowess of that distinguished character would be of service to the Midshipman. The Chicken did not appear to be in a particularly good humor on this occasion. Either the gas lamps were treacherous, or he cocked his eye in a hideous manner, and likewise distorted his nose, when Mr. Toots, crossing the road, looked back over his shoulder at the room where Florence slept. On the road home, he was more demonstrative of aggressive intentions against the other footpassengers, than comported with a professor of the peaceful art of self-defence. Arrived at home, instead of leaving Mr. Toots in his apartments when he had escorted him thither, he remained before him weighing his white hat in both hands by

the brim, and twitching his head and nose (both of which had been many times broken, and but indifferently repaired), with an air of decided disrespect

His patron being much engaged with his own thoughts, did not observe this for some time, nor indeed until the Chicken, determined not to be overlooked, had made divers clicking sounds with his tongue and teeth, to attract attention.

"Now, Master," said the Chicken, doggedly, when he, at length, caught Mr. Toots's eye, "I want to know whether this here gammon is to finish it, or whether you're a going in to

win?

"Chicken," returned Mr. Toots, "explain yourself."

Are

"Why, then, here's all about it, Master," said the Chicken. "I ain't a cove to chuck a word away. Here's wot it is. any on 'em to be doubled up?”

When the Chicken put this question he dropped his hat, made a dodge and a feint with his left hand, hit a supposed enemy a violent blow with his right, shook his head smartly, and recovered himself.

"Come, Master," said the Chicken.

or pluck? Which ?"

"Is it to be gammon

"Chicken," returned Mr. Toots, "your expressions are coarse, and your meaning is obscure."

"Why, then, I tell you what, Master," said the Chicken. "This is where it is. It's mean."

"What is mean, Chicken?" said Mr. Toots.

"It is," said the Chicken, with a frightful corrugation of his broken nose. "There! Now, Master! Wot! Wen you could go and blow on this here match to the stiff 'un;” by which depreciatory appellation it has been since supposed that the Game One intended to signify Mr. Dombey; "and when you could knock the winner and all the kit of 'em dead out o' wind and time, are you going to give in? To give in?" said the Chicken, with contemptuous emphasis. "Wy, it's mean!"

"Chicken," said Mr. Toots, severely, "you're a perfect Vulture! Your sentiments are atrocious.'

"My sentiments is Game and Fancy, Master," returned the Chicken. "That's wot my sentiments is. I can't abear a meanness. I'm afore the public, I'm to be heerd on at the bar of the Little Helephant, and no Gov'ner o' mine mustn't go and do what's mean. Wy, it's mean," said the Chicken, with increased expression. "That's where it is. It's mean."

66

Chicken!" said Mr. Toots, "you disgust me."

"Master," returned the Chicken, putting on his hat, "there's

a pair on us, then. Come! Here's a offer! You've spoke to me more than once't or twice't about the public line. Never mind! Give me a fi'typunnote to-morrow, and let me go."

"Chicken," returned Mr. Toots, "after the odious sentiments you have expressed, I shall be glad to part on such terms."

"Done, then," said the Chicken. "It's a bargain. This here conduct of yourn, won't suit my book, Master. Wy, it's mean," said the Chicken; who seemed equally unable to get beyond that point, and to stop short of it."That's where it is; it's mean!"

So Mr. Toots and the Chicken agreed to part on this incompatibility of moral perception; and Mr. Toots lying down to sleep, dreamed happily of Florence, who had thought of him as her friend upon the last night of her maiden life, and who had sent him her dear love.

MR. SOWNDS the Beadle, and Mrs. Miff the pew-opener, are early at their posts in the fine church where Mr. Dombey was married. A yellow-faced old gentleman from India, is going to take unto himself a young wife this morning, and six carriages full of company are expected, and Mrs. Miff has been informed that the yellow-faced old gentleman could pave the road to church with diamonds and hardly miss them. The nuptial benediction is to be a superior one, proceeding from a very reverend, a dean, and the lady is to be given away, as an extraordinary present, by somebody who comes express from the Horse Guards.

Mrs. Miff is more intolerant of common people this morning, than she generally is; and she has always strong opinions on that subject, for it is associated with free sittings. Mrs. Miff is not a student of political economy (she thinks the science is connected with dissenters; "Baptists or Wesleyans, or some o' them," she says), but she can never understand what business your common folks have to be married. "Drat 'em," says Mrs. Miff, "you read the same things over 'em, and instead of sovereigns get sixpences!