re even more
unexceptionable than he had at first supposed.

Taking a donkey towards his ordinary place of residence, is a very
different thing, and a feat much more easily to be accomplished, than
taking him from it. It requires a great deal of foresight and presence
of mind in the one case, to anticipate the numerous flights of his
discursive imagination; whereas, in the other, all you have to do, is, to
hold on, and place a blind confidence in the animal. Mr. Cymon Tuggs
adopted the latter expedient on his return; and his nerves were so little
discomposed by the journey, that he distinctly understood they were all
to meet again at the library in the evening.

The library was crowded. There were the same ladies, and the same
gentlemen, who had been on the sands in the morning, and on the pier the
day before. There were young ladies, in maroon-coloured gowns and black
velvet bracelets, dispensing fancy articles in the shop, and presiding
over games of chance in the concert-room. There were marriageable
daughters, and marriage-making mammas, gaming and promenading, and
turning over music, and flirting. There were some male beaux doing the
sentimental in whispers, and others doing the ferocious in moustache.
There were Mrs. Tuggs in amber, Miss Tuggs in sky-blue, Mrs. Captain
Waters in pink. There was Captain Waters in a braided surtout; there was
Mr. Cymon Tuggs in pumps and a gilt waistcoat; there was Mr. Joseph Tuggs
in a blue coat and a shirt-frill.

'Numbers three, eight, and eleven!' cried one of the young ladies in the
maroon-coloured gowns.

'Numbers three, eight, and eleven!' echoed another young lady in the same
uniform.

'Number three's gone,' said the first young lady. 'Numbers eight and
eleven!'

'Numbers eight and eleven!' echoed the second young lady.

'Number eight's gone, Mary Ann,' said the first young lady.

'Number eleven!' screamed the second.

'The numbers are all taken now, ladies, if you please,' said the first.
The representatives of numbers three, eight, and eleven, and the rest of
the numbers, crowded round the table.

'Will you throw, ma'am?' said the presiding goddess, handing the dice-box
to the eldest daughter of a stout lady, with four girls.

There was a profound silence among the lookers-on.

'Throw, Jane, my dear,' said the stout lady. An interesting display of
bashfulness--a little blushing in a cambric handkerchief--a whispering to
a younger sister.

'Amelia,