On the following day the knocker of No. 24 disturbed all the other numerals in Pleasant-terrace; and Mr. and Mrs. A. bowed and curtsied until they were tired, in acknowledgment of their friends’ “wishes of joy,” and, as one unlucky old gentleman expressed himself, “many happy returns of the day.”

It was a matter of surprise to many of the said friends, that so great an alteration as was perceptible in the happy pair, should have occurred in such a very short space of time.

“I used to think Mr. Applebite a very nice young man,” said Miss—­mind, Miss Scragbury—­“but, dear me, how he’s altered.”

“And Mrs. Applebite used to be a pretty girl,” rejoined her brother Julius; “but now (Juliana had refused him three times)—­but now she’s as ill-looking as her mother.”

“I’d no idea this house was so small,” said Mrs. Scragmore.  “I’m afraid the Waddledots haven’t made so great a catch, after all.  I hope poor Juley will be happy, for I nursed her when a baby, but I never saw such an ugly pattern for a stair-carpet in my born days;” and with these favourable impressions of their dear friends the Applebites, the Scragmores descended the steps of No. 24, Pleasant-terrace, and then ascended those of No. 5436 hackney-coach.

About ten months after their union, Collumpsion was observed to have a more jaunty step and smiling countenance, which—­as his matrimonial felicity had been so frequently pronounced perfect—­puzzled his friends amazingly.  Indeed, some were led to conjecture, that his love for Juliana Theresa was not of the positive character that he asserted it to be; for when any inquiries were made after her health, his answer had invariably been, of late, “Why, Mrs. A.—­is—­not very well;” and a smile would play about his mouth, as though he had a delightful vision of a widower-hood.  The mystery was at length solved, by the exhibition of sundry articles of a Lilliputian wardrobe, followed by an announcement in the Morning Post, under the head of

    “BIRTHS.—­Yesterday morning, the lady of Agamemnon Collumpsion
    Applebite, Esq., of a son and heir.”

Pleasant-terrace was strawed from one end to the other; the knocker of 24 was encased in white kid, a doctor’s boy was observed to call three times a-day, and a pot-boy twice as often.

Collumpsion was in a seventh heaven of wedded bliss.  He shook hands with everybody—­thanked everybody—­invited everybody when Mrs. A. should be better, and noted down in his pocket-book what everybody prescribed as infallible remedies for the measles, hooping-cough, small-pox, and rashes (both nettle and tooth)—­listened for hours to the praises of vaccination and Indian-rubber rings—­pronounced Goding’s porter a real blessing to mothers, and inquired the price of boys’ suits and rocking-horses!

In this state of paternal felicity we must leave him till our next.

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