nrolled the sketch which he had filched from Trotting
Nelly, and which he had pared and pasted, (arts in which he was
eminent,) so as to take out its creases, repair its breaches, and vamp
it as well as my old friend Mrs. Weir could have repaired the damages of
time on a folio Shakspeare.

"The vara _corpus delicti_," said the writer, grinning and rubbing his
hands.

"If you are so good as to call such scratches drawings," said Tyrrel, "I
must stand so far confessed. I used to do them for my own amusement; but
since my landlady, Mrs. Dods, has of late discovered that I gain my
livelihood by them, why should I disown it?"

This avowal, made without the least appearance either of shame or
_retenue_, seemed to have a striking effect on the whole society. The
president's trembling hand stole the sketch back to the portfolio,
afraid doubtless it might be claimed in form, or else compensation
expected by the artist. Lady Penelope was disconcerted, like an awkward
horse when it changes the leading foot in galloping. She had to recede
from the respectful and easy footing on which he had contrived to place
himself, to one which might express patronage on her own part, and
dependence on Tyrrel's; and this could not be done in a moment.

The Man of Law murmured, "Circumstances--circumstances--I thought so!"

Sir Bingo whispered to his friend the Squire, "Run out--blown up--off
the course--pity--d----d pretty fellow he has been!"

"A raff from the beginning!" whispered Mowbray.--"I never thought him
any thing else."

"I'll hold ye a poney of that, my dear, and I'll ask him."

"Done, for a poney, provided you ask him in ten minutes," said the
Squire; "but you dare not, Bingie--he has a d----d cross game look,
with all that civil chaff of his."

"Done," said Sir Bingo, but in a less confident tone than before, and
with a determination to proceed with some caution in the matter.--"I
have got a rouleau above, and Winterblossom shall hold stakes."

"I have no rouleau," said the Squire; "but I'll fly a cheque on
Meiklewham."

"See it be better than your last," said Sir Bingo, "for I won't be
skylarked again. Jack, my boy, you are had."

"Not till the bet's won; and I shall see yon walking dandy break your
head, Bingie, before that," answered Mowbray. "Best speak to the Captain
before hand--it is a hellish scrape you are running into--I'll let you
off yet, Bingie, for a guinea forfeit.--See, I am just going to start
the tat