ken in the
individual. I am this day, Sir, multiplied by two. I am duplicate. I am
number one of an indefinite series, and there's my continuation. And you
observe, it is not a block, nor a block-head, nor a painting, nor a bust,
nor a fragment of any thing, however beautiful; but a combination of _all_
the arts and sciences in one; painting, sculpture, music (hear him cry,)
mineralogy, chemistry, mechanics (see him kick,) geography, and the use of
the globes (see him nurse;) and withal, he is a perpetual motion--a
time-piece that will never run down! And who wound it up? But words, Sir,
are but a mouthing and a mockery. . . . WHEN a man is nearly crushed under
obligations, it is presumed that he is unable to speak; but he may bend
over very carefully, for fear of falling, nod in a small way, and say
nothing; and then, if he have sufficient presence of mind to lay a hand
upon his heart, and look down at an angle of forty-five degrees, with a
motion of the lips--unuttered poetry--showing the wish and inability, it
will be (well done) very gracefully expressive. With my boy in his first
integuments, I assume that position, make the small nod aforesaid, and
leave you the poetry unuttered.'

'ODD-ZOUNDS!' thought we, on glancing at the subject of the ensuing
piscatory epistle, 'what can all this outcry mean?' But that exclamatory
query we shall permit JULIAN himself to answer, in his own peculiar way:

'GAMMON!' said HARRY. 'Wait a moment,' said I; 'I shall throw sixes;' and
to be sure down came the sixes, striking him on the 'seize' point, and
then rebounding to my own, swept every man from the table. The board was
put up, and after a little closing chat with Mrs. H----, I was taking
leave, when HARRY called me back. 'JULIAN,' said he, 'Come and breakfast
to-morrow upon 'Zounds and Sounds.'' 'Zounds and Sounds!' said I, 'I shall
be delighted! What a charming dish! I remember of----' 'And JULE,' said
HARRY, interrupting me, 'perhaps FANNY would come?' 'Oh, impossible! you
know she is delicate yet, and the mornings are quite chilly.' 'Well, good
night; and don't forget that we breakfast _early_.' 'My dear Sir,' said I,
'I could rise at cock-crow for Zounds and Sounds.' . . . Now, I had never
even heard the words before; but I pique myself on knowing strange and
choice dishes; not the far-fetched things of the French, but things good
_per se_, and without a sea of condiments; the delicate, the rare
subtleties which our own wo