"Look, my dear," says he, "here is an old friend of yours, his Excellency Lord Cornvallis! Who would have thought such a nobleman vood turn shoe-black? Gaptain Stobbs, here is your former flame, my dear niece, Miss Grotty. How could you, Magdalen, ever leaf soch a lof of a man? Shake hands vid her, Gaptain;—dere, never mind de blacking:" but Miss drew back. "I never shake hands with a _shoe-black_," says she, mighty contemptuous. "Bah! my lof, his fingers von't soil you. Don't you know he has just been _vite-vashed_?" "I wish, uncle," says she, "you would not leave me with such low people." "Low, because he cleans boots? de Gaptain prefers _pumps_ to boots, I tink, ha! ha!" "Captain, indeed! a nice Captain," says Miss Crutty, snapping her fingers in my face, and walking away: "a Captain, who has had his nose pulled? ha! ha!"—And how could I help it? it wasn't by my own _choice_ that that ruffian Waters took such liberties with me; didn't I show how averse I was to all quarrels by refusing altogether his challenge?—but such is the world: and thus the people at Stiffelkind's used to tease me until they drove me almost mad. At last, he came home one day more merry and abusive than ever. "Gaptain," says he, "I have goot news for you—a goot place. Your lortship vil not be able to geep your garridge, but you vil be gomfortable, and serve his Majesty." "Serve his Majesty!" says I. "Dearest Mr. Stiffelkind, have you got me a place under Government?" "Yes, and someting better still—not only a place, but a uniform—yes, Gabdain Stobbs, a _red goat_." "A red coat! I hope you don't think I would demean myself by entering the ranks of the army? I am a gentleman, Mr. Stiffelkind—I can never—no, I never." "No, I know you will never—you are too great a goward, ha! ha!—though dis is a red goat, and a place where you must give some _hard knocks_ too, ha! ha!—do you gomprehend?—and you shall be a general, instead of a gabtain—ha! ha!" "A general in a red coat! Mr. Stiffelkind?" "Yes, a GENERAL BOSTMAN! ha! ha! I have been vid your old friend, Bunting, and he has an uncle in the Post-office, and he has got you de place—eighteen shillings a veek, you rogue, and your goat. You must not oben any of de letters, you know." And so it was—I, Robert Stubbs, Esquire, became the vile thing he named— a general postman! * * * * * I was so disgusted with Stiffelkind's brutal jokes, which were now more brutal than ever, that when I got my place in the Post-office I never went near the fellow again—for though he had done me a favour in keeping me from starvation, he certainly had done it in a very rude, disagreeable manner, and showed a low and mean spirit in _shoving_ me into such a degraded place as that of postman. But what had I to do? I submitted to fate, and for three years or more, Robert Stubbs, of the North-Bungay Fencibles, was——