Item. Stretching along the back side of the room, is a sofa, of most dyspeptic virtues--hard by, is an arm-chair, expansive enough for an alderman--and next, beneath a mirror, stands a dressing table, which, besides the appliances of adscititious beauty, _eau de cologne_, and “thine incomparable oil, Macassar,” supports a load of cups and spoons, and other paraphernalia for the fruition of that rich beverage, ‘Which Jove now drinks, since Hebe spilt his nectar, And Juno swears most bravely does affect her.’ At the same time, on the coals, is sweating and snoring a huge pot, (the _conica tridentata_ of naturalists,) like an uneasy slumberer, ‘_flagrantis atroce horâ caniculæ_’--that is, about fly-time. Pray, reader, remark my classic taste, which I have thus thrice developed for your amusement. We have thus slightly touched upon some of the most striking phenomena which meet your eye. The living appurtenances of the room demand a more careful and individual notice. Close to one side of the stove, with his feet on the fender, and his body ‘squat like a toad,’ in the easy embrace of an arm chair, sits a singular personage, known to thee, at least, reader, by the fanciful cognomen of Apple-Dumpling. He bears upon his plump visage and stout frame, the impress of sensuality, struggling with, and almost triumphing over, a good natural portion of intellect and refinement. As you see him now, with a cigar in his mouth, and a volume of Lamb’s in his hand--equally relishing the beauties of both--gazing now and then, with pleasant anticipation gleaming in his eye, upon the bubbling, hissing fountain, at his feet--and again with intellectual delight, joining in the keen raillery of his companions--from this short sketch, we say, you may divine his character. His personal appearance is no less queer than his mental organization. He is beneath the middle height, but owing to an odd habit, which he has, of bobbing his head up and down, like a startled bullfrog, his height is incessantly vibrating, between five feet, and five feet six. His hair seems constantly electrified, and points in all directions, like glory in the primer. A low forehead, thick lips, and a dull face, redeemed only by the brightness of his eye, are the only peculiarities, which deserve our notice. The worst thing about Apple is, that he is an inveterate punster, and plumes himself on his proficiency in this execrable art. You can always tell when to expect his artillery of wit. He gives utterance to a sudden, energetic whiff, and knocks the ashes fiercely from his cigar, whilst from his kindling eye there darts a quick premonitory flash. He is frequently placed under our satirical dissecting knife, and is, certainly, at times very ridiculous--yet, with all his oddities and failings, we love Apple, ‘even as the apple of our eye,’ and should as soon think of throwing away our coffee-pot, as of excluding him from our Quartette. Note with careful eye the individual next him.