self about, spun him
round and gave him a gentle rap on the head with his knuckles, at the
same time advising him to move on.

"Oh!" exclaimed the small boy, looking up with an expression of deep
concern on his countenance, as he backed off the pavement, "I _hope_ I
didn't hurt you, bobby; I _really_ didn't mean to; but accidents will
happen, you know, an' if you won't keep your knuckles out of a feller's
way, why--"

"Come," muttered the policeman, "shut up your potato-trap for fear you
catch cold. Your mother wants you; she's got some pap ready for you."

"Ha!" exclaimed the small boy, with his head a little on one side, as
though he were critically inspecting the portrait of some curious
animal, "a prophet it is--a blue-coated prophet in brass buttons, all
but choked with a leather stock--if not conceit. A horacle, six fut two
in its stockin's. I say, bobby, whoever brought you up carried you up
much too high, both in body and notions. Wot _wouldn't_ they give for
'im in the Guards, or the hoss-marines, if he was only eight inches
wider across the shoulders!"

Seeing that the policeman passed slowly and gravely on without
condescending to take further notice of him, the small boy bade him an
affectionate farewell; said that he would not forget to mention him
favourably at head-quarters, and then continued his progress through the
crowded streets at a smart pace, whistling Jim Crow at the top of his
shrill pipe.

The small boy had a long walk before him; but neither his limbs,
spirits, nor lips grew weary by the way. Indeed, his energies seemed to
increase with every step, if one might judge from the easy swagger of
his gait, and the various little touches of pleasantry in which he
indulged from time to time; such as pulling the caps over the eyes of
boys smaller than himself, winking at those who were bigger, uttering
Indian war-whoops down alleys and lanes that looked as if they could
echo, and chaffing all who appeared to be worthy of his attentions.
Those eccentricities of humour, however, did not divert his active mind
from the frequent and earnest study of the industrial arts, as these
were exhibited and exemplified in shop-windows.

"Jolly stuff that, ain't it?" observed another small boy, in a coat much
too long for him, as they met and stopped in front of a chocolate-shop
at the top of Holborn Hill, where a steam-engine was perpetually
grinding up such quantities of rich brown chocolate, that it s