For three or four weeks I saw little of my respected uncle. He had--heaven knows how--got himself affiliated to one of the clubs, and sat half the day in the reading-room, poring over the Railway Journals and the Money-market article in the Times. He played whist of an evening on a system peculiar to himself, and levied a very fair contribution from the pockets of certain country gentlemen, who piqued themselves on understanding the antiquated tactics of Major A.; but never had the fortune before to measure trumps with an American. On the whole, he appeared remarkably comfortable and contented. One morning I was honoured with an early domiciliary visit. "Fred," said my uncle, "put up half-a-dozen shirts and a tooth-brush. We start for Liverpool this evening." "This evening!" said I in amazement. "Impossible, my dear sir! Only reflect--the Session is not over yet, and what would become of my business if I were to levant without notice?" "I'll insure all your losses for a pound-note. Tell them you've got business elsewhere: I daresay a good many of the old hands are up to that trick already." "But my engagements"--persisted I. "There's Mrs M'Crinoline's ball on Tuesday, and Lady M'Loup's the week after--really, uncle, I don't see how I can possibly get away." "Do you wish to make your fortune, sir?" "Undoubtedly." "Then do as I bid you. Get up and shave, and in the mean time I'll look after breakfast." There was nothing for it but obedience, so I rose and polished my outer man. Mr Scripio was apparently in high feather and digestion. He put the finishing stroke to what had once been a prize mutton ham, and dug as diligently into a pot of marmalade as though he expected to find a layer of doubloons at the bottom. To my amazement, he dedicated his last cup of coffee as a special bumper to the health of the Noble President of the Board of Trade. "What's in the wind now?" thought I. "Uncle, have you any thing dependent before Parliament? Perhaps you want a junior counsel for a bill." "Confound Parliament!" said the irreverent Columbian; "I don't care a cent more for it than I do for Congress. The Board of Trade's the thing for my money! That's your constitutional tribunal--close-fitting boxes and Bramah locks--no humbug there! 'Zooks, won't we smash old Jobson after all!" and Scripio neighed like a Shetland pony at its first introduction to oats--all the while helping himself to a caulker of genuine Glenlivat.