of the front windows of the house, and appear

to be reading his book attentively.

"Then thee woant tramp ?"

"No, discourteous trencher-scraper."

"Tell'ee these be own private premises-all as far as 'yond boundaries loines marked with

stones."

"Pooh! the common earth man; here will I sit and meditate on words and things sublime." "Then constable weel nob thee, mon-poor crazy body as he be."

Now this last remark of the retiring footman made Peter Drivel wroth; so he took up a stone, well adapted by its angularity to find its way into a thick skull, if thrown with sufficient force, and hurled it after the insulter with a very creditable degree of precision and impetus. It broke the man's uncovered head. First clapping his hand to the wound, to discover whether the little brains of which he could boast had oozed out, he turned round, and was inmediately within arm's-length of the not unprepared Peter.

Without wasting time in any unnecessary preliminaries, issue was immediately joined in single combat, commonly called a fistic duel. I am not going to describe the rounds minutely. It was all round with the west-countryman-he hit round, he whirled round, and his two arms worked like the sails of a windmill going round, and these arms he wished to place round Peter, in order to give him the true Cornish hug. Peter declined it. However, as an indemnity for this uncomplying conduct, Peter delivered his one, two, twenty times over upon all parts of his antagonist's face, and whilst the burly fellow was shaking his head, and making his great eyes greater at these delicate touches, the facepainter got away. In a short time, the poor servant found his head and face almost twice their natural size, and this miracle was produced, too, by a dapper little fellow that he was sure he could have eaten if he could only have got at him.

But in thrashing this man, Peter Drivel did

his master the best possible service. This encounter soon drew out the other servants, and seeing a person so little, beating the bully of the servant's hall, they gave up, for once, the esprit de corps of the shoulder-knot, and clamorously preserved fair play. This clamour brought out the female domesticity, a bad word, but let it go, for, if I try to mend it, I may make the matter worse, as they did; for the fray, that was only clamorous before, became obstreperous, which I take to be the meaning that Nelly wished to convey, when she rushed into Miss Belmont's private apartment, and, with the outspread fingers of both her hands above her head, exclaimed, that "little Peter, Captain Oliphant's man, was obstropulously beating Heavy Hal, the second footman."

We need not be diffuse on the emotions that this simple intelligence created in the bosom of our romantic lady, who had been hitherto kept profoundly ignorant of Mr. Underdown's attempt at an interview. Acting upon impulse,

as every romantic person is bound to do, she followed Nelly to the scene of action, whither also Mrs. Dredegely had repaired, her face more inflamed than that of the sun, trying to work his way through a London fog. She was upon the point of ordering Peter to the cage, without hearing anything on his behalf, when Miss Belmont interposed, or rather moved an amendment, that for the word cage, should be read "her private sitting-room," which amendment was carried by a very large majority.

However, Peter was a man who wished to bear himself as befitted a man who was the "credentials" of his master, so begged leave, in the first place, to "wash his hands of his late opponent," and they really wanted it, for there was much of his blood upon them.

Borne in graceful triumph between Nelly and the cook, he made his triumphal entry into the kitchen, and eager were the services of all in assisting him at his ablutions. But even under the operation of the pump, Peter ran the risk

of suffocation in the painful endeavour to deliver himself of a pun. But, as the maids threw cold water upon the attempt, we will suppose it to be so bad a one, that it was drowned, like an ugly puppy, with seven other pups uglier than he.

Refreshed, and with re-adjusted apparel, Mr. Drivel was ushered into the romantic presence. He had much difficulty in making his way across the room. The impediments were classical as they were numerous, among the most conspicuous of which were two altars, only imagined by Pope, of "twelve French romances finely gilt." Guitars, harps, and harpsichords, drawing-boards, and easels, an apparatus for staining paper, globes, portfolios, and skippingropes, formed a very imposing confusion. The lady had just completed a very excellent general likeness, in water-colours, of the Belladonna, as she lay at anchor, which was the article which finally arrested the attention, and excited the astonishment, of the much perceptive Peter.