Our readers will hardly believe us, when we inform them, that upon receiving this intelligence concerning Mr. Tippetson, our friend, Dr. Crack, immediately felt a very strong desire to become acquainted with him, and to set him down among the number of his intimates: it is however a fact. The reason for this may be found in the peculiar ambition of the doctor's mind. His passion was for fashionable society. He had heard and read of the vices and follies of fashionable life; and these being to the eye of the multitude the most prominent features in the portrait of high life, he considered them as essential characteristics of that class, and was pleased whenever it was in his power to identify himself with them. It immediately entered into his mind that it would contribute much to his own celebrity, if he should be intimately acquainted with a gentleman who should immortalise himself by eloping with a countess. Without expressing to Sloper this wish, he proposed, for the sake of consuming half an hour, to go into the Gallery and look at the company. The Gallery was very much crowded, and Dr. Crack felt sorry that he had not left word at home where he might be found: for it would be so delightful to be called out amidst so apparently splendid and fashionable an assemblage. The doctor soon found the Countess sitting on a bench, and Mr. Tippetson standing by her, and making himself as absurdly ridiculous as he possibly could. The doctor addressed himself to the Countess, and her ladyship was most gracious and condescending. Mr. Tippetson retreated a few steps that he might have room to lift his glass to his eye, and look through it at the doctor. Sloper paid his respects to the Countess, and soon retired, leaving the indefatigable physician enjoying the luxury of paying court to a titled lady. After a few minutes' conversation about nothing at all, the Countess beckoned to Henry Augustus, saying, "Tippetson, let me introduce you to my friend, Dr. Crack: you have heard of the celebrity of the doctor, and his fame in nervous cases." "Exactly so," said Mr. Tippetson; and then turning to the doctor, he continued: "I am most happy in the introduction; doctor, I believe I must consult you on the subject of my nerves, for I am growing worse and worse. The other day, when I was setting my watch by the clock at the Horse Guards, an old acquaintance, presuming on his intimacy, gave me a violent slap on the shoulders, and positively I almost fainted. I could not recover my strength all the rest of the day; and when I was endeavouring to raise a glass of claret to my lips, my hand trembled so that I spilled the wine, and so I was betrayed into taking a second glass; a piece of intemperance, of which I am not often guilty."