At this instant all heads were attracted to the windows by a spectacle presented at the back of a carriage just then passing; behind it, in all the pride and pomp of white silk hose, appeared a splendid pair of calves, accompanied by a livery-coat, cocked hat, and cane. A little boy had presumptuously mounted the "step behind," and the proprietor of the calves, instead of ordering him off, thrust him brutally down by an application of his foot to the face of the unfortunate urchin. Boys are little men, especially in their passions; and resentment of injury is a sharp and subtle suggester. The youthful proselyte of vengeance, after an instant's consideration, darted forwards, caught hold of the rail of the carriage, ran behind it a few feet, and then thrust a pin into one of the broad, round, _shaking_ calves of the footman. With uplifted leg he stood, while the carriage rapidly bore him away from his retreating tormentor. He had a stick, but he could not use it; he was in a free country, yet he dared not stop the carriage. He was hopelessly, ridiculously helpless. How he envied all those of his fraternity who wore padded calves. A cork leg would have been a real blessing! [Illustration] "HERE'S A BIT OF FAT FOR YOU!" cried a learned Professor of Obesity, at the same time tossing over to us an accurate account of the dimensions of one Thomas Hardy Kirman, whose case Mr. Pettigrew submitted to the Royal Society in 1833. This boy, before he was quite twelve years of age, measured five feet one, and weighed 198 lbs. He was 45 1/2 inches round the waist, 18 1/2 round the calf, and 19 across the shoulders. His obesity commenced at six years of age, at which time he fractured his thigh and was confined six weeks. [Illustration] "Why didn't they _let_ him out to hire," said Mr. Cavil, "to the Expositors of Mesmerism; he must have been made to stick pins into. Think of a human creature being turned into a pincushion! It fills all my flesh with a sense of glass splinters and Whitechapel blunts." Here our young acquaintance, Charles Hookeywalker, with delicate tenderness, proposed a relief to the feelings of the speaker by volunteering a sonnet. "Another sonnet!" cried Mr. Cavil, "worse and worse, I hate sonnets." But the subject in this especial instance was voted to contain a saving grace, for it was addressed to the Princess Royal, while yet she is HEIRESS PRESUMPTIVE.