ed his living by showing tricks upon the
cards, and who had rather deranged the natural expression of his
countenance by putting small leaden lozenges into his eyes and bringing
them out at his mouth, which was one of his professional
accomplishments. The name of the first of these newcomers was Vuffin;
the other, probably as a pleasant satire upon his ugliness, was called
Sweet William. To render them as comfortable as he could, the landlord
bestirred himself nimbly, and in a very short time both gentlemen were
perfectly at their ease.

'How's the Giant?' said Short, when they all sat smoking round the fire.

'Rather weak upon his legs,' returned Mr Vuffin. 'I begin to be afraid
he's going at the knees.'

'That's a bad look-out,' said Short.

'Aye! Bad indeed,' replied Mr Vuffin, contemplating the fire with a
sigh. 'Once get a giant shaky on his legs, and the public care no more
about him than they do for a dead cabbage stalk.'

'What becomes of old giants?' said Short, turning to him again after a
little reflection.

'They're usually kept in carawans to wait upon the dwarfs,' said Mr
Vuffin.

'The maintaining of 'em must come expensive, when they can't be shown,
eh?' remarked Short, eyeing him doubtfully.

'It's better that, than letting 'em go upon the parish or about the
streets,' said Mr Vuffin. 'Once make a giant common and giants will
never draw again. Look at wooden legs. If there was only one man with
a wooden leg what a property he'd be!'

'So he would!' observed the landlord and Short both together. 'That's
very true.'

'Instead of which,' pursued Mr Vuffin, 'if you was to advertise
Shakspeare played entirely by wooden legs,' it's my belief you wouldn't
draw a sixpence.'

'I don't suppose you would,' said Short. And the landlord said so too.

'This shows, you see,' said Mr Vuffin, waving his pipe with an
argumentative air, 'this shows the policy of keeping the used-up giants
still in the carawans, where they get food and lodging for nothing, all
their lives, and in general very glad they are to stop there. There
was one giant--a black 'un--as left his carawan some year ago and took
to carrying coach-bills about London, making himself as cheap as
crossing-sweepers. He died. I make no insinuation against anybody in
particular,' said Mr Vuffin, looking solemnly round, 'but he was
ruining the trade;--and he died.'

The landlord drew his breath hard, and looked at the owner of the dog