ved from the pilotage of timid women (mostly of a full habit

and past the middle term of life) from Tellson’s side of the tides to

the opposite shore. Brief as such companionship was in every

separate instance. Mr. Cruncher never failed to become so

interested in the lady as to express a strong desire to have the

honour of drinking her very good health. And it was from the gifts

bestowed upon him towards the execution of this benevolent

purpose, that he recruited his finances, as just now observed.

Time was, when a poet sat upon a stool in a public place, and

mused in the sight of men. Mr. Cruncher, sitting on a stool in a

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public place, but not being a poet, mused as little as possible, and

looked about him.

It fell out that he was thus engaged in a season when crowds

were few, and belated women few, and when his affairs in general

were so unprosperous as to awaken a strong suspicion in his

breast that Mrs. Cruncher must have been “flopping” in some

pointed manner, when an unusual concourse pouring down Fleet

Street westward, attracted his attention. Looking that way, Mr.

Cruncher made out that some kind of funeral was coming along,

and that there was popular objection to this funeral, which

engendered uproar.

“Young Jerry,” said Mr. Cruncher, turning to his offspring, “it’s

a buryin’