uous shame of youth. It is promising, sir; 'lowliness is young
ambition's ladder,' as the Swan says. Mount the first step, and learn
whist,--sixpenny points to begin with."

Notwithstanding any newness in actual life, I had had the good fortune
to learn a little of the way before me, by those much-slandered guides
called novels,--works which are often to the inner world what maps are
to the outer; and sundry recollections of "Gil Blas" and the "Vicar of
Wakefield" came athwart me. I had no wish to emulate the worthy Moses,
and felt that I might not have even the shagreen spectacles to boast of
in my negotiations with this new Mr. Jenkinson. Accordingly, shaking
my head, I called for my bill. As I took out my purse,--knit by my
mother,--with one gold piece in one corner, and sundry silver ones in
the other, I saw that the eyes of Mr. Peacock twinkled.

"Poor spirit, sir! poor spirit, young man! 'This avarice sticks deep,'
as the Swan beautifully observes. 'Nothing venture, nothing have.'"

"Nothing have, nothing venture," I returned, plucking up spirit.

"Nothing have! Young sir, do you doubt my solidity--my capital--my
'golden joys'?"

"Sir, I spoke of myself. I am not rich enough to gamble."

"Gamble!" exclaimed Mr. Peacock, in virtuous indignation--"gamble! what
do you mean, sir? You insult me!" and he rose threateningly, and slapped
his white hat on his wig. "Pshaw! let him alone, Hal," said the boy,
contemptuously. "Sir, if he is impertinent, thrash him." (This was to
me.) "Impertinent! thrash!" exclaimed Mr. Peacock, waxing very red; but
catching the sneer on his companion's lip, he sat down, and subsided
into sullen silence.

Meanwhile I paid my bill. This duty--rarely a cheerful one--performed,
I looked round for my knapsack, and perceived that it was in the
boy's hands. He was very coolly reading the address, which, in case
of accidents, I prudently placed on it: "Pisistratus Caxton,
Esq.,--Hotel,--Street, Strand."

I took my knapsack from him, more surprised at such a breach of good
manners in a young gentleman who knew life so well, than I should have
been at a similar error on the part of Mr. Peacock. He made no apology,
but nodded farewell, and stretched himself at full length on the bench.
Mr. Peacock, now absorbed in a game of patience, vouchsafed no return
to my parting salutation, and in another moment I was alone on the
high-road. My thoughts turned long upon the young man I had left; mixed
wit