CHAPTER XVII--PHILANTHROPY, PROFESSIONAL AND UNPROFESSIONAL.
Full half a year had come and gone, and Mr.Crisparkle sat in a waiting-room in the London chief offices of the Haven of Philanthropy, until he could have audience of Mr.Honeythunder.
In his college days of athletic exercises, Mr.Crisparkle had known professors of the Noble Art of fisticuffs, and had attended two or three of their gloved gatherings.

He had now an opportunity of observing that as to the phrenological formation of the backs of their heads, the Professing Philanthropists were uncommonly like the Pugilists.

In the development of all those organs which constitute, or attend, a propensity to 'pitch into' your fellow-creatures, the Philanthropists were remarkably favoured.

There were several Professors passing in and out, with exactly the aggressive air upon them of being ready for a turn-up with any Novice who might happen to be on hand, that Mr.Crisparkle well remembered in the circles of the Fancy.

Preparations were in progress for a moral little Mill somewhere on the rural circuit, and other Professors were backing this or that Heavy-Weight as good for such or such speech-making hits, so very much after the manner of the sporting publicans, that the intended Resolutions might have been Rounds.