* * * * * The reader must not do poor Mr. Sandboys the injustice to imagine that he had so far forgotten himself as to have made a pillow of one of the metropolitan kerb-stones. Nor was he, at the time referred to, the temporary tenant of one of the Bow-street police cells; for that much maligned gentleman, far from being then in “durance vile,” was still enjoying a disjointed kind of nap in the corner of the Mile-end omnibus. Let us explain. The flower-seller, immediately on handling the discarded inexpressibles of Mr. Christopher Sandboys, had discovered that one of the pockets was not wholly empty; and though he was sufficiently alive to the impositions occasionally practised upon members of his fraternity by coachmen, grooms, footmen, and others, to be well aware that articles—especially buttons and pieces of silver paper—were frequently inserted in the fob of cast-off pantaloons, with the view of leading them to imagine that either some notes or coin had been accidentally left in the garments by their late innocent possessors, and so inducing them to give a higher sum for the articles than they were really worth—the flower-seller was, nevertheless, we say, too fully satisfied of the thorough rusticity and consequent simplicity of Mrs. and Miss Sandboys, to believe that they could be capable of any such trick. The hawker, too, was clever tradesman enough to lead Mrs. Sandboys to suppose that he was in no way anxious to become the purchaser of the articles offered to him; and he was particularly careful, as he turned the garments over and over to examine them, never to allow either of the pockets to fall under the notice of Mrs. Sandboys.