[Illustration: _A Collection of National Hairs, with variations._ ] [Illustration] NOVEMBER.—A GENERAL POST DELIVERY. I was a free man when I went out of the Court; but I was a beggar—I, Captain Stubbs, of the bold North-Bungays, did not know where I could get a bed or a dinner. As I was marching sadly down Portugal Street, I felt a hand on my shoulder, and a rough voice which I knew well. "Vell, Mr. Stobbs, have I not kept my bromise? I told you dem boots would be your ruin." I was much too miserable to reply; and only cast up my eyes towards the roofs of the houses, which I could not see for the tears. "Vat! you begin to gry and blobber like a shild? you vood marry, vood you, and noting vood do for you but a vife vid monny—ha, ha—but you vere de pigeon, and she vas de grow. She has plocked you, too, pretty vell— eh? ha! ha!" "Oh, Mr. Stiffelkind," said I, "don't laugh at my misery; she has not left me a single shilling under heaven. And I shall starve—I do believe I shall starve." And I began to cry fit to break my heart. "Starf! stoff and nonsense—you vil never die of starfing—you vil die of _hanging_, I tink, ho! ho! and it is moch easier vay too." I didn't say a word, but cried on, till everybody in the street turned round and stared. "Come, come," said Stiffelkind, "do not gry, Gaptain Stobbs—it is not goot for a Gaptain to gry, ha! ha! Dere, come vid me, and you shall have a dinner, and a bregfast too—vich shall gost you nothing, until you can bay vid your earnings." And so this curious old man, who had persecuted me all through my prosperity, grew compassionate towards me in my ill-luck: and took me home with him as he promised. "I saw your name among de Insolvents—and I vowed, you know, to make you repent dem boots. Dere now, it is done and forgotten, look you. Here, Betty, Bettchen, make de spare bed, and put a clean knife and fork; Lort Cornvallis is come to dine vid me." I lived with this strange old man for six weeks. I kept his books, and did what little I could to make myself useful: carrying about boots and shoes, as if I had never borne his Majesty's commission. He gave me no money, but he fed and lodged me comfortably. The men and boys used to laugh, and call me General, and Lord Cornwallis, and all sorts of nicknames—and old Stiffelkind made a thousand new ones for me. One day, I can recollect—one miserable day, as I was polishing on the trees a pair of boots of Mr. Stiffelkind's manufacture, the old gentleman came into the shop with a lady on his arm. "Vere is Gaptain Stobbs," says he; "vere is dat ornament to his Majesty's service?" I came in from the back shop, where I was polishing the boots, with one of them in my hand.