demand a
single glass of rum on the putting on of every piece of the armour, got,
by some means or other, rather out of his calculation in the hurry and
confusion of preparation, and drank about four glasses to a piece instead
of one, not to mention the something strong which went on the top of it.
Whether the brass armour checked the natural flow of perspiration, and
thus prevented the spirit from evaporating, we are not scientific enough
to know; but, whatever the cause was, Mr. Twigger no sooner found himself
outside the gate of Mudfog Hall, than he also found himself in a very
considerable state of intoxication; and hence his extraordinary style of
progressing. This was bad enough, but, as if fate and fortune had
conspired against Nicholas Tulrumble, Mr. Twigger, not having been
penitent for a good calendar month, took it into his head to be most
especially and particularly sentimental, just when his repentance could
have been most conveniently dispensed with. Immense tears were rolling
down his cheeks, and he was vainly endeavouring to conceal his grief by
applying to his eyes a blue cotton pocket-handkerchief with white
spots,--an article not strictly in keeping with a suit of armour some
three hundred years old, or thereabouts.

'Twigger, you villain!' said Nicholas Tulrumble, quite forgetting his
dignity, 'go back.'

'Never,' said Ned. 'I'm a miserable wretch. I'll never leave you.'

The by-standers of course received this declaration with acclamations of
'That's right, Ned; don't!'

'I don't intend it,' said Ned, with all the obstinacy of a very tipsy
man. 'I'm very unhappy. I'm the wretched father of an unfortunate
family; but I am very faithful, sir. I'll never leave you.' Having
reiterated this obliging promise, Ned proceeded in broken words to
harangue the crowd upon the number of years he had lived in Mudfog, the
excessive respectability of his character, and other topics of the like
nature.

'Here! will anybody lead him away?' said Nicholas: 'if they'll call on me
afterwards, I'll reward them well.'

Two or three men stepped forward, with the view of bearing Ned off, when
the secretary interposed.

'Take care! take care!' said Mr. Jennings. 'I beg your pardon, sir; but
they'd better not go too near him, because, if he falls over, he'll
certainly crush somebody.'

At this hint the crowd retired on all sides to a very respectful
distance, and left Ned, like the Duke of Devonshire, in a li