the one which did
duty last year, and which he keeps in his desk to save the other. There
he sits till five o'clock, working on, all day, as regularly as the dial
over the mantel-piece, whose loud ticking is as monotonous as his whole
existence: only raising his head when some one enters the counting-house,
or when, in the midst of some difficult calculation, he looks up to the
ceiling as if there were inspiration in the dusty skylight with a green
knot in the centre of every pane of glass. About five, or half-past, he
slowly dismounts from his accustomed stool, and again changing his coat,
proceeds to his usual dining-place, somewhere near Bucklersbury. The
waiter recites the bill of fare in a rather confidential manner--for he
is a regular customer--and after inquiring 'What's in the best cut?' and
'What was up last?' he orders a small plate of roast beef, with greens,
and half-a-pint of porter. He has a small plate to-day, because greens
are a penny more than potatoes, and he had 'two breads' yesterday, with
the additional enormity of 'a cheese' the day before. This important
point settled, he hangs up his hat--he took it off the moment he sat
down--and bespeaks the paper after the next gentleman. If he can get it
while he is at dinner, he eats with much greater zest; balancing it
against the water-bottle, and eating a bit of beef, and reading a line or
two, alternately. Exactly at five minutes before the hour is up, he
produces a shilling, pays the reckoning, carefully deposits the change in
his waistcoat-pocket (first deducting a penny for the waiter), and
returns to the office, from which, if it is not foreign post night, he
again sallies forth, in about half an hour. He then walks home, at his
usual pace, to his little back room at Islington, where he has his tea;
perhaps solacing himself during the meal with the conversation of his
landlady's little boy, whom he occasionally rewards with a penny, for
solving problems in simple addition. Sometimes, there is a letter or two
to take up to his employer's, in Russell-square; and then, the wealthy
man of business, hearing his voice, calls out from the
dining-parlour,--'Come in, Mr. Smith:' and Mr. Smith, putting his hat at
the feet of one of the hall chairs, walks timidly in, and being
condescendingly desired to sit down, carefully tucks his legs under his
chair, and sits at a considerable distance from the table while he drinks
the glass of sherry which is po