ing. After a few glasses of wine, he gives
Miss Dombey's health, observing, 'Feeder, you have no idea of the
sentiments with which I propose that toast.' Mr Feeder replies, 'Oh,
yes, I have, my dear Toots; and greatly they redound to your honour, old
boy.' Mr Feeder is then agitated by friendship, and shakes hands; and
says, if ever Toots wants a brother, he knows where to find him, either
by post or parcel. Mr Feeder like-wise says, that if he may advise, he
would recommend Mr Toots to learn the guitar, or, at least the flute;
for women like music, when you are paying your addresses to 'em, and he
has found the advantage of it himself.

This brings Mr Feeder, B.A., to the confession that he has his eye
upon Cornelia Blimber. He informs Mr Toots that he don't object to
spectacles, and that if the Doctor were to do the handsome thing and
give up the business, why, there they are--provided for. He says it's
his opinion that when a man has made a handsome sum by his business, he
is bound to give it up; and that Cornelia would be an assistance in it
which any man might be proud of. Mr Toots replies by launching wildly
out into Miss Dombey's praises, and by insinuations that sometimes he
thinks he should like to blow his brains out. Mr Feeder strongly urges
that it would be a rash attempt, and shows him, as a reconcilement to
existence, Cornelia's portrait, spectacles and all.

Thus these quiet spirits pass the evening; and when it has yielded place
to night, Mr Toots walks home with Mr Feeder, and parts with him at
Doctor Blimber's door. But Mr Feeder only goes up the steps, and when
Mr Toots is gone, comes down again, to stroll upon the beach alone, and
think about his prospects. Mr Feeder plainly hears the waves informing
him, as he loiters along, that Doctor Blimber will give up the business;
and he feels a soft romantic pleasure in looking at the outside of the
house, and thinking that the Doctor will first paint it, and put it into
thorough repair.

Mr Toots is likewise roaming up and down, outside the casket that
contains his jewel; and in a deplorable condition of mind, and not
unsuspected by the police, gazes at a window where he sees a light,
and which he has no doubt is Florence's. But it is not, for that is Mrs
Skewton's room; and while Florence, sleeping in another chamber, dreams
lovingly, in the midst of the old scenes, and their old associations
live again, the figure which in grim reality is substituted fo