Mr. Jonathan Pugwash commenced by expressing his thanks for the high honour done him by selecting him to preside over that meeting—an honour the more distinguished, inasmuch as it had been perfectly unexpected on his part. [_This was completely false, it having been settled in Committee three days previously that he was to preside on this occasion; but your zealots do not mind a white lie at times._] He was well aware of his own unworthiness (_Cries of "No! no!"_): yes—he _was_ an unworthy vessel—but he hoped the Lord would sustain him in the onerous duty thrust upon him. (_"Amen!" in a hollow, sepulchral tone from the Rev. Malachi Sawkins._) He thanked the ladies and gentlemen—or he should rather say his Christian sisters and brethren present, for the kind—the handsome—the feeling manner in which they had contradicted his expressed belief of his own unworthiness. (_Cheers, and "Go it, Pugwash!" from a drunken gentleman in a remote corner of the room._) He need scarcely inform the highly respectable and influential meeting then and there assembled, that the object of such assembly on that occasion was to hear certain accounts of the progress of the good cause, from the lips of a revered brother (_cheers_) who had just returned (_renewed cheers_) from a long (_more cheering_)—arduous (_prolonged cheering_)—and most perilous (_vociferous cheering_)—mission to the islands of the South Seas (_tremendous cheering, mingled with "Bravo!" from the drunken gentleman in the remote corner._) He need scarcely say that he alluded to their dear—venerated—respected—highly-prized—gifted—talented—persevering friend, Mr. Sheepshanks! (_Cheers._) With these few observations, he would introduce Mr. Sheepshanks to the meeting. (_Prolonged cheering._) The chairman sate down in an awful state of perspiration; but, in another moment he rose again; for a little door at the back of the platform had just been opened by one of the ushers—and behold! Joshua Sheepshanks appeared before the enraptured spectators. It would be impossible to describe the enthusiasm which now prevailed in the room. The cheering was tremendous—the waving of the ladies' handkerchiefs created a perfect gale of chill air—and the drunken gentleman in the corner shouted so vociferously that one old lady who sate near him would certainly have fainted (as she subsequently observed) if another old lady next to her had not happened, "by the merest accident in the whole world," to have a small flask of cognac in her muff, and most charitably to place the said flask at her disposal. Mr. Sheepshanks was a tall, thin, sallow-faced man, with black hair combed sleekly over his forehead, and sharp, piercing grey eyes, which seldom settled anywhere—but when they did, it happened (singularly enough!) that they were sure to fix themselves on the prettiest faces in the room.