e, of course, in such cases;
but I really think he's more like one of those little carved
representations that one sometimes sees blowing a trumpet on a
tombstone!' The nurse stooped down over the child, and with great
difficulty prevented an explosion of mirth. Pa and ma looked almost as
miserable as their amiable uncle.

'Well!' said the disappointed little father, 'you'll be better able to
tell what he's like by-and-by. You shall see him this evening with his
mantle off.'

'Thank you,' said Dumps, feeling particularly grateful.

'Now, my love,' said Kitterbell to his wife, 'it's time we were off.
We're to meet the other godfather and the godmother at the church,
uncle,--Mr. and Mrs. Wilson from over the way--uncommonly nice people.
My love, are you well wrapped up?'

'Yes, dear.'

'Are you sure you won't have another shawl?' inquired the anxious
husband.

'No, sweet,' returned the charming mother, accepting Dumps's proffered
arm; and the little party entered the hackney-coach that was to take them
to the church; Dumps amusing Mrs. Kitterbell by expatiating largely on
the danger of measles, thrush, teeth-cutting, and other interesting
diseases to which children are subject.

The ceremony (which occupied about five minutes) passed off without
anything particular occurring. The clergyman had to dine some distance
from town, and had two churchings, three christenings, and a funeral to
perform in something less than an hour. The godfathers and godmother,
therefore, promised to renounce the devil and all his works--'and all
that sort of thing'--as little Kitterbell said--'in less than no time;'
and with the exception of Dumps nearly letting the child fall into the
font when he handed it to the clergyman, the whole affair went off in the
usual business-like and matter-of-course manner, and Dumps re-entered the
Bank-gates at two o'clock with a heavy heart, and the painful conviction
that he was regularly booked for an evening party.

Evening came--and so did Dumps's pumps, black silk stockings, and white
cravat which he had ordered to be forwarded, per boy, from Pentonville.
The depressed godfather dressed himself at a friend's counting-house,
from whence, with his spirits fifty degrees below proof, he sallied
forth--as the weather had cleared up, and the evening was tolerably
fine--to walk to Great Russell-street. Slowly he paced up Cheapside,
Newgate-street, down Snow-hill, and up Holborn ditto, looking as