be perusing and pondering over the immortal _Principia_. I repeat,
that I have no desire of the sort, and am determined not again foolishly
to attempt fine writing, which I now perceive to be entirely out of my
line. In language more befitting me and my subject, I may be allowed to
say that there is no getting the contents of a quart into a pint pot;
that Titmouse's mind was a half-pint--and it was brim-full. All the
while that I have been going on thus, however, Titmouse was hurrying
down Holborn at a rattling rate. When at length he had reached Saffron
Hill, he was in a bath of perspiration. His face was quite red; he
breathed hard; his heart beat violently; he had got a stitch in his
side; and he could not get his gloves on his hot and swollen hands. He
stood for a moment with his hat off, wiping his reeking forehead, and
endeavoring to recover himself a little, before entering the dreaded
presence to which he had been hastening. He even fancied for a moment
that his eyes gave out sparks of light. While thus pausing, St. Andrew's
Church struck ten, half electrifying Titmouse, who bolted up Saffron
Hill, and was soon standing opposite the door. How the sight of it smote
him, as it reminded him of the way in which, on the preceding night, he
had bounced out of it! But that could not now be helped; so _ring_ went
the bell; as softly, however, as he could; for he recollected that it
was a very loud bell, and he did not wish to offend. He stood for some
time, and nobody answered. He waited for nearly two minutes, and
trembled, assailed by a thousand vague fears. He might not, however,
have rung loudly enough--so--again, a little louder, did he venture to
ring. Again he waited. There seemed something threatening in the great
brass plate on the door, out of which "QUIRK, GAMMON, AND SNAP" appeared
to look at him ominously. While he thought of it, by the way, there was
something very serious and stern in all their faces--he wondered that he
had not noticed it before. What a drunken beast he had been to go on in
their presence as he had! thought he; then Huckaback's image flitted
across his disturbed fancy. "Ah!" thought he, "that's the thing!--that's
it, depend upon it: this door will never be opened to _me_ again--he's
done for me!" He breathed faster, clinched his fist, and involuntarily
raised it in a menacing way, when he heard himself addressed--"Oh! dear
me, sir, I _hope_ I haven't kept you waiting," said the old woman w