d and locked me up; when to my great consolation
in my affliction, I found Simpson, crying and twisting up his
pocket-handkerchief, as if he was wringing it; and hoping his friends
would not hear of his disgrace through the _Times_."

"What a love you are, Simpson!" observes Mr. Jones patronisingly. "Why,
how the deuce could they, if you gave a proper name? I hope you called
yourself James Edwards."

Mr. Simpson blushes, blows his nose, mutters something about his card-case
and telling an untruth, which excites much merriment; and Mr. Muff
proceeds:--

"The beak wasn't such a bad fellow after all, when we went up in the
morning. I said I was ashamed to confess we were both disgracefully
intoxicated, and that I would take great care nothing of the same
humiliating nature should occur again; whereupon we were fined twelve pots
each, and I tossed sudden death with Simpson which should pay both. He
lost and paid down the dibs. We came away, and here we are."

The mirth proceeds, and, ere long, gives place to harmony; and when the
cookery is finished, the bird is speedily converted into an anatomical
preparation,--albeit her interarticular cartilages are somewhat tough, and
her lateral ligaments apparently composed of a substance between leather
and caoutchouc. As afternoon advances, the porter of the dissecting-room
finds them performing an incantation dance round Mr. Muff, who, seated on
a stool placed upon two of the tressels, is rattling some halfpence in a
skull, accompanied by Mr. Rapp, who is performing a difficult concerto on
an extempore instrument of his own invention, composed of the Scotchman's
hat, who is still grinding in the Museum, and the identical thigh-bone
that assisted to hang Mr. Muff's patriarchal old hen!

* * * * *

SIGNS OF THE TIMES.

"The times are hard," say the knowing ones. "Hard" indeed they must be
when we find a DOCTOR advertising for a situation as WET-NURSE. The
following appeared in the _Times_ of Wednesday last, under the head of
"Want Places." "As wet-nurse, a respectable person. Direct to DOCTOR
P----, C---- Common, Surrey." What next?

* * * * *

THE "PUFF PAPERS."

CHAPTER II.

The Giant's Stairs.

(CONTINUED.)

"'Well,' says he, 'you're a match for me any day; and sooner than be shut
up again in this dismal ould box, I'll give you what you ask for my
liberty. And the three best gifts I possess are,