is all one. The fellow is an object of false curiosity and his position should be detestable to him. But is it? In the case of the man with a port-wine mark probably, in the case of the hunchback possibly, but in the case of the mock celebrity, not at all. He revels in it. The nudge that goes between the oncoming couple never escapes him. He is on the look out for it. His wife will tell you how often people have remarked Andrew's resemblance to Napoleon with almost as much pride as if she had been married to that scourge of humanity. He goes to all the fancy dress balls there are in the costume appropriate to his unfortunate condition, and the murmurs of surprise which follow his triumphant progress about the rooms are sweeter to his ears than the whispers of love.
And in his ordinary clothes, should he be an imitation of Nelson, or Lord Charles Beresford, he rolls seamanlike; if the Duke of Wellington is his model he makes every inch of him try to look martial, yea! though he cheapen bananas on a barrow. He shaves his beard, not because he is cleaner so, but because Mr. George Alexander has particular views about his hair. And surely there is no wilder folly than to do any particular thing solely because someone else has done it before you. What may be highly convenient if
