ed for some months
past.

Mr. Harry then takes:--1, his fine new gold watch; 2, his repeater (that
which he had bought for Hetty), which he puts into his other fob; 3,
his necklace, which he had purchased for Theo; 4, his rings, of which
my gentleman must have half a dozen at least (with the exception of
his grandfather's old seal ring, which he kisses and lays down on the
pincushion again); 5, his three gold snuff boxes: and 6, his purse,
knitted by his mother, and containing three shillings and sixpence and a
pocket-piece brought from Virginia: and, putting on his hat, issues from
his door.

At the landing he is met by Mr. Ruff, his landlord, who bows and cringes
and puts into his honour's hand a strip of paper a yard long. "Much
obliged if Mr. Warrington will settle. Mrs. Ruff has a large account
to make up to-day." Mrs. Ruff is a milliner. Mr. Ruff is one of the
head-waiters and aides-de-camp of Mr. Mackreth, the proprietor of
White's Club. The sight of the landlord does not add to the lodger's
good-humour.

"Perhaps his honour will have the kindness to settle the little
account?" asks Mr. Ruff.

"Of course I will settle the account," says Harry, glumly looking down
over Mr. Ruffs head from the stair above him.

"Perhaps Mr. Warrington will settle it now?"

"No, Sir, I will not settle it now!" says Mr. Warrington, bullying
forward.

"I'm very--very much in want of money, sir," pleads the voice under him.
"Mrs. Ruff is----"

"Hang you, sir, get out of the way!" cries Mr. Warrington, ferociously,
and driving Mr. Ruff backward to the wall, sending him almost
topsy-turvy down his own landing, he tramps down the stair, and walks
forth into Bond Street.

The Guards were at exercise at the King's Mews at Charing Cross, as
Harry passed, and he heard their drums and fifes, and looked in at the
gate, and saw them at drill. "I can shoulder a musket at any rate,"
thought he to himself gloomily, as he strode on. He crossed St. Martin's
Lane (where he transacted some business), and so made his way into Long
Acre, and to the bootmaker's house where friend Sampson lodged. The
woman of the house said Mr. Sampson was not at home, but had promised to
be at home at one; and, as she knew Mr. Warrington, showed him up to the
parson's apartments, where he sate down, and, for want of occupation,
tried to read an unfinished sermon of the chaplain's. The subject was
the Prodigal Son. Mr. Harry did not take very accurate cognisan