all, not in the least remedied by the prodigious padding of his coat. His protuberant eyes, of very light hue, had an expression entirely harmonizing with that of his open mouth; and both together, quite independently of his dress, carriage, and demeanor--(there is nothing like being candid)--gave you the image of a--complete fool. Having at length carefully adjusted his hat on his head, and drawn on his white kid gloves, he enveloped himself in a stylish cloak, with long black silk tassels, which had been lent to him by Snap; and about four o'clock, forth sallied Mr. Titmouse, carefully picking his way, in quest of the first coach that could convey him to Alibi House, or as near to it as might be. He soon found one, and, conscious that his appearance was far too splendid for an outside place, got inside. All the way along, his heart was in a little flutter of vanity, excitement, and expectation. He was going to be introduced to Miss Quirk--and probably, also, to several people of great consequence--as the heir apparent to £10,000 a-year! Two very respectable female passengers, his companions, he never once deigned to interchange, a syllable with. Four or five times did he put his head out of the window, calling out in a loud peremptory tone--"Mind, coachman--Alibi House--Mr. Quirk's--Alibi House--Do you hear, demme?" After which he would sink back into the seat with a magnificent air, as if he had not been used to give himself so much trouble. The coach at length stopped. "Hallibi Ouse, sir," said the coachman, in a most respectful tone--"this is Mr. Quirk's, sir." Titmouse stepped out, dropped eighteenpence into the man's hand, and opening the gate, found himself in a straight and narrow gravel walk, of about twenty yards in length, with little obstinate-looking stunted shrubs on each side. 'T was generally known, among Mr. Quirk's friends, by the name of "the _Rope-walk_." Titmouse might have entered before as fine-looking a house, but only to deliver a bundle of drapery or hosiery: never before had he entered such an one in the reality of guest. It was, in fact, a fair-sized house, at least treble that of Satin Lodge, and had a far more stylish appearance. When Titmouse pulled the bell, the door was quickly plucked open by a big footman, with showy shoulder-knot and a pair of splendid red plush breeches, who soon disposed of Titmouse's cloak and hat, and led the way to the drawing-room, before our friend, with a sudden palpitation of the heart, had had a moment's time even to run his hands through his hair. "Your name, sir?" inquired the man, suddenly pausing--with his hand upon the handle of the door. "Mr. Titmouse!" "I--_beg_ your pardon, sir; _what_ name?"