n the panic year) of the Imperial British Consolidated Mangle
and Drying Ground Company. I've been on the stage (for two years as an
actor, and about a month as a cad, when I was very low); I've been
the means of giving to the police of this empire some very valuable
information (about licensed victuallers, gentlemen's carts, and
pawnbrokers' names); I've been very nearly an officer again--that is,
an assistant to an officer of the Sheriff of Middlesex: it was my last
place.

On the last day of the year 1837, even THAT game was up. It's a
thing that very seldom happened to a gentleman, to be kicked out of
a spunging-house; but such was my case. Young Nabb (who succeeded his
father) drove me ignominiously from his door, because I had charged a
gentleman in the coffee-rooms seven-and-sixpence for a glass of ale and
bread and cheese, the charge of the house being only six shillings. He
had the meanness to deduct the eighteenpence from my wages, and because
I blustered a bit, he took me by the shoulders and turned me out--me, a
gentleman, and, what is more, a poor orphan!

How I did rage and swear at him when I got out into the street! There
stood he, the hideous Jew monster, at the double door, writhing under
the effect of my language. I had my revenge! Heads were thrust out of
every bar of his windows, laughing at him. A crowd gathered round me,
as I stood pounding him with my satire, and they evidently enjoyed his
discomfiture. I think the mob would have pelted the ruffian to death
(one or two of their missiles hit ME, I can tell you), when a policeman
came up, and in reply to a gentleman, who was asking what was the
disturbance, said, "Bless you, sir, it's Lord Cornwallis." "Move on,
BOOTS," said the fellow to me; for the fact is, my misfortunes and early
life are pretty well known--and so the crowd dispersed.

"What could have made that policeman call you Lord Cornwallis and
Boots?" said the gentleman, who seemed mightily amused, and had followed
me. "Sir," says I, "I am an unfortunate officer of the North Bungay
Fencibles, and I'll tell you willingly for a pint of beer." He told me
to follow him to his chambers in the Temple, which I did (a five-pair
back), and there, sure enough, I had the beer; and told him this very
story you've been reading. You see he is what is called a literary
man--and sold my adventures for me to the booksellers; he's a strange
chap; and says they're MORAL.

*****

I'm blest if I can se