Mr. John Diggs is a man who always carries his will before him, like a crown on a cushion, while his reason follows like a page, holding up the skirts of his great coat. Honest-hearted, and not without generosity, he is much esteemed in spite of his many perversities. He possesses a shrewd observation, and a good understanding, when once you can get at it; but his energies and animal spirits commonly carry him out of all bounds, so that to bring him back to rational judgment is a work of no small difficulty. He is _open_ to conviction, as he always says, but he is a tip-top specimen of the class who commonly use that expression; his open door is guarded by all the bludgeons of obstinacy, behind which sits a pig-headed will, with its eyes half shut. This is the man, and in the condition of mind which may be conjectured from his speech in the chair, just quoted, who drove up in his gig last Friday, as the clock struck four, to the gates of the London Gas Works, Vauxhall, in order to hear, with his own ears, Mr. Phillips dare to say he could extinguish the most violent flames without the use of water; and to see, with his own eyes, the total failure of the attempt, and the exposure of the humbug. To make sure of entire sympathy in all his perversities, Mr. Diggs had brought his wife with him; and to insure a ready assistance in the detection of any tricks, his foreman, Mr. White, had been sent on by the steamer. A real reason lay at the bottom of all this; for the work-place and warehouse of Mr. Diggs were worth 60,000_l._; part of which sum, no insurance could cover; and his stock in trade as well as his works, he but too well knew, were of a most combustible nature. No laughing matter—therefore not a thing to be trifled with. Mr. Diggs met his foreman in the yard, waiting for his arrival; and the party having displayed their tickets, were ushered across and around, till they came to a large brick building, with a long row of arched window holes along the top, apparently for the ready escape of volumes of smoke. The window holes all looked very black about the edges. So did the door-posts. The walls were very dingy and besmutched. Mrs. Diggs had put on her best spring bonnet with orange ribbons, and her pink and fawn-coloured silk shawl. She had a sudden misgiving, but it couldn’t be helped now.