Among Mr. Timmis's numerous clients, was one Mr. Cornelius Crobble, a man of most extraordinary dimensions; he was also a "chum" of, and frequently made one of a party with, his friend Mr. Wallis, and other croneys, to white-bait dinners at Blackwall, and other intellectual banquets. In fact, he seldom made his appearance at the office, but the visit ended in an engagement to dine at some "crack-house" or other. The cost of the "feed," as Mr. Timmis termed it, was generally decided by a toss of "best two and three;" and somehow it invariably happened that Mr. Crobble lost; but he was so good-humoured, that really it was a pleasure, as Mr. Wallis said, to "grub" at his expense. They nick-named him Maximo Rotundo--and he well deserved the title. "Where's Timmis?" said he, one day after he had taken a seat, and puffed and blowed for the space of five minutes--"Cuss them stairs; they'll be the death o' me." I ran to summon my master. "How are you, old fellow?" demanded Mr. Timmis; "tip us your fin." "Queer!" replied Mr. Crobble,--tapping his breast gently with his fat fist, and puffing out his cheeks--to indicate that his lungs were disordered. "What, bellows to mend?" cried my accomplished patron-- D___ me, never say die!" "Just come from Doctor Sprawles: says I must take exercise; no malt liquor--nothing at breakfast--no lunch--no supper." "Why, you'll be a skeleton--a transfer from the consolidated to the reduced in no time," exclaimed Mr. Timmis; and his friend joined in the laugh. "I was a-thinking, Timmis--don't you belong to a cricketclub?" "To be sure." --"Of joining you." "That's the ticket," cried Timmis--"consider yourself elected; I can carry any thing there. I'm quite the cock of the walk, and no mistake. Next Thursday's a field-day--I'll introduce you. Lord! you'll soon be right as a trivet." Mr Wallis was summoned, and the affair was soon arranged; and I had the gratification of being present at Mr. Crobble's inauguration. It was a broiling day, and there was a full field; but he conducted himself manfully, notwithstanding the jokes of the club. He batted exceedingly well, "considering," as Mr. Wallis remarked; but as for the "runs," he was completely at fault. He only attempted it once; but before he had advanced a yard or two, the ball was caught; and the agile player, striking the wicket with ease, exclaimed, amid the laughter of the spectators--"Out! so don't fatigue yourself, I beg, sir." And so the match was concluded, amid cheers and shouting, in which the rotund, good-natured novice joined most heartily. CHAPTER VIII.--The Hunter. "Hunting may be sport, says I, but I'm blest if its pleasure." Two days after the cricket-match, Mr. Crobble paid a visit to my master. "Well, old fellow, d___ me me, if you ain't a trump--how's your wind?" --kindly enquired Mr. Timmis. "Vastly better, thank'ye; how's Wallis and the other fellows?--prime sport that cricketing."