grim as
the figure-head of a man-of-war, and finding out fresh causes of misery
at every step. As he was crossing the corner of Hatton-garden, a man
apparently intoxicated, rushed against him, and would have knocked him
down, had he not been providentially caught by a very genteel young man,
who happened to be close to him at the time. The shock so disarranged
Dumps's nerves, as well as his dress, that he could hardly stand. The
gentleman took his arm, and in the kindest manner walked with him as far
as Furnival's Inn. Dumps, for about the first time in his life, felt
grateful and polite; and he and the gentlemanly-looking young man parted
with mutual expressions of good will.

'There are at least some well-disposed men in the world,' ruminated the
misanthropical Dumps, as he proceeded towards his destination.

Rat--tat--ta-ra-ra-ra-ra-rat--knocked a hackney-coachman at Kitterbell's
door, in imitation of a gentleman's servant, just as Dumps reached it;
and out came an old lady in a large toque, and an old gentleman in a blue
coat, and three female copies of the old lady in pink dresses, and shoes
to match.

'It's a large party,' sighed the unhappy godfather, wiping the
perspiration from his forehead, and leaning against the area-railings.
It was some time before the miserable man could muster up courage to
knock at the door, and when he did, the smart appearance of a
neighbouring greengrocer (who had been hired to wait for seven and
sixpence, and whose calves alone were worth double the money), the lamp
in the passage, and the Venus on the landing, added to the hum of many
voices, and the sound of a harp and two violins, painfully convinced him
that his surmises were but too well founded.

'How are you?' said little Kitterbell, in a greater bustle than ever,
bolting out of the little back parlour with a cork-screw in his hand, and
various particles of sawdust, looking like so many inverted commas, on
his inexpressibles.

'Good God!' said Dumps, turning into the aforesaid parlour to put his
shoes on, which he had brought in his coat-pocket, and still more
appalled by the sight of seven fresh-drawn corks, and a corresponding
number of decanters. 'How many people are there up-stairs?'

'Oh, not above thirty-five. We've had the carpet taken up in the back
drawing-room, and the piano and the card-tables are in the front. Jemima
thought we'd better have a regular sit-down supper in the front parlour,
because of