Jacob Gray’s superstitious fears, and they were tolerably numerous, got the better of his prudence, and he raised a cry of terror at the idea of something of an unearthly character having taken up its abode in his solitary dwelling. The moment he spoke, the sounds rapidly retreated from the stair-head, and for a few moments all was still as the grave. Jacob Gray listened attentively for a long time before he would venture up the staircase, and when he did so, it was step by step, and with the utmost caution. When he reached the top, he stood for a time, and listened attentively. Not a sound met his ears. Then he gathered courage, and advanced to the door of the room from whence the noises had seemed to proceed. All was still, and Jacob Gray summoned his courage to turn the handle of the lock and peer into the apartment. “There is no one here,” he muttered. “What could it have been? Imagination could not so deceive me!” As he glanced round the room, to his surprise, he saw that several of the articles which it contained were displaced; and his apprehensions were still further increased by seeing on the floor several prints of feet, of a character he could not define, and was quite certain he had never seen before. Scarcely had he time to think upon these strange and startling appearances, when a low growl met his ears, and immediately upon that a voice exclaimed.— “There, now, you’ve done it! Oh, cuss you, Popsy.” Gray gave a jump to the door, and he could scarcely believe his eyes when a man’s head appeared from beneath the sofa, and confronted him with a mixed expression of effrontery and apprehension. “How—came—you—here?” gasped Gray. “Popsy come out,” was the man’s only reply to his interrogatory; and, to Gray’s surprise, an immense shaggy bear made its appearance from the same place of concealment. “Who are you?” cried Jacob Gray. “Why don’t you answer the gentleman, you brute?” said the man, dealing the bear a heavy blow with his fist; “affectionate ways is lost upon you, that they is—” “How dare you come here?” cried Gray. “Don’t ye hear?” screamed the man, still addressing the bear. “How dare ye come here?—Eh?” “Spy!—Villain!” cried Gray, drawing from his breast the same knife with which he would have stabbed Ada to the heart. “Hilloah!—Hilloah!” cried the man. “Do you hear, my Popsy, what he calls ye?” The bear commenced a low growling, and displayed a formidable row of blackened fangs at Jacob Gray. “Who and what are you?” shrieked Gray to the man. “Barbican Tibbs, the bear warden, but common people calls me Tipsy Tibbs, and nothink else.” “What in the name of hell brought you here?” cried Gray. “Oh! I’m confidential,” replied the man, “and I don’t mind telling you.” “Quickly then, quickly.” “Why, you see they say as there isn’t to be allowed more than three bear wardens in Westminster, and as I’ve only just come from Canterbury, I makes faces and a parsecutor.” “Faces, and a what?”