“Nothing extremely particular.—­Now, sir, you are fit for the king’s levee, so far as my department is concerned.  But you cannot go out just now, sir—­see how it rains—­a perfect water-spout.  Just feel yourself at home, sir, for a leetle, and take a peep around you.  That block, sir, has been very much admired—­extremely like the Wenus de Medicine—­capital nose—­and as for the wig department, catch me for that, sir.  But of all them there pictures hanging around, yon is the favourite of myself and the connessoors.”

“Ay, Mr. Tims,” said I, “that is truly a gem—­an old lover kneeling at the foot of his young sweetheart, and two fellows in buckram taking a peep at them from among the trees.”

“Capital, sir—­capital.  I’ll tell you a rare good story, sir, connected with that picture and my own history, with your honour’s leave, sir.”

“With all my heart, Mr. Tims—­you are very obliging.”

“Well then, sir, take that chair, and I will get on like a house on fire; but if you please, don’t put me off my clew, sir.—­Concerning that picture and my courtship, the most serious epoch of my life, there is a leetle bit of a story which I would like to be a beacon to others; and if your honour is still a bachelor, and not yet stranded on the shoals of matrimony, it may be Werbum Sapienti, as O’Toole, the Irish schoolmaster, used to observe, when in the act of applying the birch to the booby’s back.

“Well, sir, having received a grammatical education, and been brought up as a peruke-maker from my earliest years—­besides having seen a deal of high life, and the world in general, in carrying false curls, bandeaux, and other artificial head-gear paraphernalia, in bandboxes to boarding schools, and so on—­a desire naturally sprung up within me, being now in my twenty-first year, and worth a guinea a week of wages, to look about for what old kind Seignor Fiddle-stringo, the minuet-master, used to recommend under the title of a cara sposa—­open shop—­and act head frizzle in an establishment of my own.

“Very good, sir—­In the pursuit of this virtuous purpose, I cast a sheep’s eye over the broad face of society, and at length, from a number of eligible specimens, I selected three, who, whether considered in the light of natural beauty, or mental accomplishment, struck me forcibly as suitable coadjutors for a man—­for a man like your humble servant.”

“A most royal bow that, Mr. Tims.  Well, proceed, if you please.”

“Very good, sir—­well, then, to proceed.  The first of these was Miss Diana Tonkin, a young lady, who kept her brother’s snuff-shop, at the sign of the African astride the Tobacco Barrel—­a rare beauty, who was on the most intimate talking terms with half a hundred young bloods and beaux, who looked in during lounging hours, being students of law, physic, and divinity, half-pay ensigns, and theatrical understrappers, to replenish their boxes with Lundyfoot, whiff a Havannah cigar, or masticate pigtail.  No wonder that she was spoiled by flattery, Miss Diana, for she was a bit of a beauty; and though she had but one eye—­by heavens, what an eye that was!”