ish was to pass unnoticed, unheard, unseen; _he_, who
of all the creeping things on the earth, pitied the glowworm most,
because the spark in its tail attracted observation. He gave up his
lodgings and his piebald, and went "in his angry mood to Tewksbury."

I ought ere this to have described my hero. He was rather _embonpoint_,
but fat was not with him, as it sometimes is, twin brother to fun;
_his_ fat was weighty, he was inclined to _blubber_. He wore a wig, and
carried in his countenance an expression indicative of the seriousness
of his turn of mind.

He alighted from the coach at the principal inn at Tewksbury; the
landlady met him in the hall, started, smiled, and escorted him into a
room with much civility. He took her aside, and briefly explained that
retirement, quiet, and a back room to himself were the accommodations
he sought.

"I understand you sir," replied the landlady, with a knowing wink,
"a little quiet will be agreeable by way of change; I hope you'll find
every thing here to your liking." She then curtseyed and withdrew.

"Frank," said the hostess to the head waiter, "who _do_ you think
we've got in the blue parlour? you'll never guess! I knew him the minute
I clapped eyes on him; dressed just as I saw him at the Haymarket
Theatre, the only night I ever was at a London stage play. The gray
coat, and the striped trousers, and the hessian boots over them, and the
straw hat out of all shape, and the gingham umbrella!"

"Who is he, ma'am?" said Frank. "Why, the great comedy actor, Mr.
Liston," replied the landlady, "come down for a holiday; he wants to be
quiet, so we must not blab, or the whole town will be after him."

This brief dialogue will account for much disquietude which subsequently
befell our ill fated Dumps. People met him, he could not imagine why,
with a broad grin on their features. As they passed they whispered to
each other, and the words "inimitable," "clever creature," "irresistibly
comic," evidently applied to himself, reached his ears.

Dumps looked more serious than ever; but the greater his gravity, the
more the people smiled, and one young lady actually laughed in his face
as she said aloud, "Oh, that mock heroic tragedy look is _so_ like
him!"

Sighmon sighed for the seclusion of number three, Burying Ground
Buildings, Paddington Road.

One morning his landlady announced, with broader grin than usual, that a
gentleman desired to speak with him; he grumbled, but submitt