“Mr Bruin says he must have a partner,” drawled the conductor from the back of his head; and Bruin, clutching the garland of flowers from the top of the pole, stumped round the circle of fair by-standers, with the view apparently of suiting his fancy. “I presume, Mr Bruin, you are dazzled with such a galaxy of bright star-like eyes,” said a wag. “Bur wur hur ough,” growled Bruin. “They remind him of the Aurora Borealis, in the North Seas,” was the interpretation given out from the back of the head. “I suppose you are a great traveller, Bruin,” demanded another querist. “Wur bur ough hur.” “He accompanied Sir John Ross in his polar expeditions,” was the response. By this time every one enjoyed the humour of the conceit; and when Bruin placed the garland of flowers on the brow of Anita Mendoza, the belle of the ball-room, it was not ungraciously received by the blushing beauty, and raptures of applause approved the selection. “You show a very fair taste, Mr Bruin,” said the smiling landlady. “We represent Beauty and the Beast of the nursery tale,” was the meaning of the bur wur of the response. “Can I offer you any thing to eat or drink?” demanded the landlady. “Mr Bruin will trouble you for an ice and a young sea unicorn,” replied the transposed conductor. “I hope you won’t eat any of us, Mr Bruin,” said one of the ring. “He would rather hug his partner than worry puppies,” was the ready rejoinder. “When did you meet your great father-in-law, Dr Johnson, ursa major?” asked a would-be wit. “Mr Bruin desires me to give you a pot of his grease to make your whiskers grow,” said the conductor, handing an elegant little bear’s grease pot out of the pouch that hung by Bruin’s side. “Give me one! give me one!” shouted a number of ladies at the same time. “For a hug a-piece,” shouted the bear in _propria persona_, forgetting his disguise. “It is Tom Thorne! ’tis Mr Thorne!” shouted out a number of voices; and the bear was soon patted, caressed, and rifled of all the contents of his pouch by the fair triflers, no longer afraid of a hug from bear like Tom Thorne. Amid the fun and merriment created by this incident, a smart explosion was heard, followed by wreaths of aromatic smoke from pastiles ignited by the explosion caused by opening the elegant little grease pot given to the beardless youth. The proprietress of every one of Bruin’s little presents now became a heroine.