After looking about him several times, he proceeds to make himself remarkable to any person or persons who may happen to be gazing streetward from the window. He will stand suddenly still, and button-up his coat as though determined on some desperate action. With a loud-sounding “hem!” he clears his throat and advances towards the roadway; but, alas, before his feet touch the pavement’s boundary his courage falters, and he dashes his hand across his eyes and shakes his head, in a manner that at once conveys to beholders the impression that, much as he desires it, he is unequal to the performance of what a moment ago he contemplated and thought himself strong enough to perform. At least, if this is not made manifest to the beholder, the actor has missed his object. On he goes again just a few faltering steps—a very few—and then he cries “hem!” again, louder and fiercer than before, and dashes into the middle of the road. If you had pushed him there, or set your dog at him and he had bounded there to escape its fangs, the injured look he casts up at you could not be surpassed. He says not a word for a full minute; he simply folds his arms sternly and glares at you up at the window, as though he would say not so much “What do you think of me standing here?” as “What do you think of yourself, after having driven me to do a thing so ignominious and shameful?” These necessary preliminaries accomplished, in a loud impassioned voice he opens: “WHAT!”—(a pause of some seconds’ duration)—“WHAT! will a man not do to drive away from his door the WOLF that assails the wife of his bosom and his innocent horfspring?” He appears to await an answer to this, as though it were a solemn conundrum; though from the moody contraction of his eyebrows and the momentary scorn that wrinkles the corners of his mouth as he still gazes all round at the windows, he seems to be aware that it is one which on account of your complete ignorance of such matters you will never guess.