o very great hurry to return. But we
have arrived at an important point in our physiology--the first launch of
the new man into the ocean of his London life, and we pause upon its
shore. He has but definite ideas of three public establishments at all
intimately connected with his professional career--the Hall, the College,
and the Cyder-cellars. There are but three individuals to whom he looks
with feelings of deference--Mr. Sayer of Blackfriars, Mr. Belfour of
Lincoln's-inn-fields, and Mr. Rhodes of Maiden-lane. These are the
impersonation of the Fates--the arbitrators of his destinies.

As it is customary that an attendance in the Theatre of Lectures should
precede the student's determination to "have a shy at the College," or "go
up to the Hall," so is it usual for a visit to one of the theatres to be
paid before going down to the Cyder-cellars. The new man has been beguiled
into the excursion by the exciting narratives of his companions, and
beginning to feel that he is behind the other "chaps" (a new man's term)
in knowledge of the world, he yields to the attraction held out; not
because he at first thinks it will give him pleasure so to do, as because
it will put him on a level with those who have been, on the same principle
as our rambling compatriots go to Switzerland and the Rhine. His Mentor is
ready in the shape of a third-season man, and under his protecting
influence he sallies forth.

The theatres have concluded; every carriage, cab, and "coach 'nhired" in
their vicinity is in motion; venders of trotters and ham-sandwiches are in
full cry; the bars of the proximate retail establishments are crowded with
thirsty gods; ruddy chops and steaks are temptingly displayed in the
windows of the supper-houses, and the turnips and carrots in the
freshly-arrived market-carts appear astonished at the sudden confusion by
which they are surrounded. Amidst this confusion the new man and his
friends arrive beneath the beacon which illumines the entrance of the
tavern. He descends the stairs in an agony of anticipation, and feverishly
trips up the six or eight succeeding ones to arrive at the large room. A
song has just concluded, and he enters triumphantly amidst the thunder of
applause, the jingling of glasses, the imperious vociferations of fresh
orders, and an atmosphere of smoke that pervades the whole apartment, like
dense clouds of incense burning at the altar of the genius of
conviviality.

The new man is at first