A History of Pendennis, Volume 1

by William Makepeace Thackeray

  CHAPTER XXXI.

  OLD AND NEW ACQUAINTANCES.

  Elated with the idea of seeing life, Pen went into a hundred queerLondon haunts. He liked to think he was consorting with all sorts ofmen--so he beheld coalheavers in their tap-rooms; boxers in theirinn-parlors; honest citizens disporting in the suburbs or on the river;and he would have liked to hob and nob with celebrated pick-pockets, ordrink a pot of ale with a company of burglars and cracksmen, had chanceafforded him an opportunity of making the acquaintance of this class ofsociety. It was good to see the gravity with which Warrington listenedto the Tutbury Pet or the Brighton Stunner at the Champion's Arms, andbehold the interest which he took in the coalheaving company assembledat the Fox-under-the-Hill. His acquaintance with the public-houses ofthe metropolis and its neighborhood, and with the frequenters of theirvarious parlors, was prodigious. He was the personal friend of thelandlord and landlady, and welcome to the bar as to the club-room. Heliked their society, he said, better than that of his own class, whosemanners annoyed him, and whose conversation bored him. "In society," heused to say, "ever body is the same, wears the same dress, eats anddrinks, and says the same things; one young dandy at the club talks andlooks just like another, one Miss at a ball exactly resembles another,whereas there's character here. I like to talk with the strongest manin England, or the man who can drink the most beer in England, or withthat tremendous republican of a hatter, who thinks Thistlewood was thegreatest character in history. I like gin-and-water better than claret.I like a sanded floor in Carnaby Market better than a chalked one inMayfair. I prefer Snobs, I own it." Indeed, this gentleman was a socialrepublican; and it never entered his head while conversing with Jack andTom that he was in any respect their better; although, perhaps, thedeference which they paid him might secretly please him.

  Pen followed him then to these various resorts of men with great gleeand assiduity. But he was considerably younger, and therefore muchmore pompous and stately than Warrington; in fact, a young prince indisguise, visiting the poor of his father's kingdom. They respected himas a high chap, a fine fellow, a regular young swell. He had somehowabout him an air of imperious good-humor, and a royal frankness andmajesty, although he was only heir apparent to twopence-halfpenny, andbut one in descent from a gallypot. If these positions are made forus, we acquiesce in them very easily; and are always pretty ready toassume a superiority over those who are as good as ourselves. Pen'scondescension at this time of his life was a fine thing to witness.Among men of ability this assumption and impertinence passes off withextreme youth: but it is curious to watch the conceit of a generous andclever lad--there is something almost touching in that early exhibitionof simplicity and folly.

  So, after reading pretty hard of a morning, and, I fear, not law merely,but politics and general history and literature, which were as necessaryfor the advancement and instruction of a young man as mere dry law,after applying with tolerable assiduity to letters, to reviews, toelemental books of law, and, above all, to the newspaper, until the hourof dinner was drawing nigh, these young gentlemen would sally out uponthe town with great spirits and appetite, and bent upon enjoying a merrynight as they had passed a pleasant forenoon. It was a jovial time, thatof four-and-twenty, when every muscle of mind and body was in healthyaction, when the world was new as yet, and one moved over it spurredonward by good spirits and the delightful capability to enjoy. If everwe feel young afterward, it is with the comrades of that time: the tuneswe hum in our old age, are those we learned then. Sometimes, perhaps,the festivity of that period revives in our memory; but how dingy thepleasure-garden has grown, how tattered the garlands look, how scant andold the company, and what a number of the lights have gone out sincethat day! Gray hairs have come on like daylight streaming in--daylightand a headache with it. Pleasure has gone to bed with the rouge on hercheeks. Well, friend, let us walk through the day, sober and sad, butfriendly.

  I wonder what Laura and Helen would have said, could they have seen, asthey might not unfrequently have done, had they been up and in London,in the very early morning, when the bridges began to blush in thesunrise, and the tranquil streets of the city to shine in the dawn,Mr. Pen and Mr. Warrington rattling over the echoing flags toward theTemple, after one of their wild nights of carouse--nights wild, but notso wicked as such nights sometimes are, for Warrington was a woman-hater;and Pen, as we have said, too lofty to stoop to a vulgar intrigue. Ouryoung Prince of Fairoaks never could speak to one of the sex but withrespectful courtesy, and shrank from a coarse word or gesture withinstinctive delicacy--for though we have seen him fall in love with afool, as his betters and inferiors have done, and as it is probablethat he did more than once in his life, yet for the time of the delusionit was always as a goddess that he considered her, and chose to waitupon her. Men serve women kneeling--when they get on their feet, theygo away.

  That was what on acquaintance of Pen's said to him in his hard, homelyway; an old friend with whom he had fallen in again in London--no otherthan honest Mr. Bows of the Chatteries Theater, who was now employedas piano-forte player, to accompany the eminent lyrical talent whichnightly delighted the public at the Fielding's Head in Covent Garden:and where was held the little club called the Back Kitchen.

  Numbers of Pen's friends frequented this very merry meeting. TheFielding's Head had been a house of entertainment, almost since thetime when the famous author of Tom Jones presided as magistrate inthe neighboring Bow-street; his place was pointed out, and the chairsaid to have been his, still occupied by the president of the night'sentertainment. The worthy Cutts, the landlord of the Fielding's Head,generally occupied this post when not disabled by gout or otherillness. His jolly appearance and fine voice may be remembered by someof my male readers: he used to sing profusely in the course of theharmonic meeting, and his songs were of what may be called the BritishBrandy-and-Water School of Song--such as "The Good Old EnglishGentleman," "Dear Tom, this Brown Jug," and so forth--songs in whichpathos and hospitality are blended, and the praises of good liquor andthe social affections are chanted in a barytone voice. The charms of ourwomen, the heroic deeds of our naval and military commanders, are oftensung in the ballads of this school, and many a time in my youth have Iadmired how Cutts the singer, after he had worked us all up to patrioticenthusiasm, by describing the way in which the brave Abercrombiereceived his death-wound, or made us join him in tears, which he shedliberally himself, as in faltering accents he told how autumn's fallingleaf "proclaimed the old man he must die"--how Cutts the singer becameat once Cutts the landlord, and, before the applause which we weremaking with our fists on his table, in compliment to his heart-stirringmelody, had died away, was calling, "Now, gentlemen, give your orders,the waiter's in the room--John, a champagne cup for Mr. Green. I think,sir, you said sausages and mashed potatoes? John, attend on thegentleman."

  "And I'll thank ye give me a glass of punch too, John, and take care thewather boils," a voice would cry not unfrequently, a well-known voice toPen, which made the lad blush and start when he heard it first--that ofthe venerable Captain Costigan; who was now established in London, andone of the great pillars of the harmonic meetings at the Fielding'sHead.

  The captain's manners and conversation brought very many young men tothe place. He was a character, and his fame had begun to spread soonafter his arrival in the metropolis, and especially after his daughter'smarriage. He was great in his conversation to the friend for the timebeing (who was the neighbor drinking by his side), about "me daughter."He told of her marriage, and of the events previous and subsequent tothat ceremony; of the carriages she kept; of Mirabel's adoration for herand for him; of the hundther pounds which he was at perfect liberty todraw from his son-in-law, whenever necessity urged him. And havingstated that it was his firm intention to "dthraw next Sathurday, I giveye me secred word and honor next Sathurday, the fourteenth, when ye'llsee the money will be handed over to me at Coutts's, the very instantI present the check," the captain would not unfrequently propose toborrow a half-crow
n of his friend until the arrival of that day of GreekCalends, when, on the honor of an officer and gentleman, he would repeethe thrifling obligetion.

  Sir Charles Mirabel had not that enthusiastic attachment to hisfather-in-law, of which the latter sometimes boasted (although in otherstages of emotion Cos would inveigh, with tears in his eyes, against theingratitude of the child of his bosom, and the stinginess of the wealthyold man who had married her); but the pair had acted not unkindly towardCostigan; had settled a small pension on him, which was paid regularly,and forestalled with even more regularity by poor Cos; and the periodof the payments were always well known by his friend at the Fielding'sHead, whither the honest captain took care to repair, bank notes inhand, calling loudly for change in the midst of the full harmonicmeeting. "I think ye'll find _that_ note won't be refused at the Bankof England, Cutts, my boy," Captain Costigan would say. "Bows, have aglass? Ye needn't stint yourself to-night, any how; and a glass of punchwill make ye play _con spirito_." For he was lavishly free with hismoney when it came to him, and was scarcely known to button his breechespocket, except when the coin was gone, or sometimes, indeed, when acreditor came by.

  It was in one of these moments of exultation that Pen found his oldfriend swaggering at the singers' table at the back kitchen of theFielding's Head, and ordering glasses of brandy and water for any of hisacquaintances who made their appearance in the apartment. Warrington whowas on confidential terms with the bass singer, made his way up to thisquarter of the room, and Pen walked at his friend's heels.

  Pen started and blushed to see Costigan. He had just come from LadyWhiston's party, where he had met and spoken with the captain's daughteragain, for the first time after very old, old days. He came up without-stretched hand, very kindly and warmly to greet the old man; stillretaining a strong remembrance, of the time when Costigan's daughter hadbeen every thing in the world to him. For though this young gentlemanmay have been somewhat capricious in his attachments, and occasionallyhave transferred his affections from one woman to another, yet he alwaysrespected the place where Love had dwelt, and, like the Sultan ofTurkey, desired that honors should be paid to the lady toward whom hehad once thrown the royal pocket-handkerchief.

  The tipsy captain returning the clasp of Pen's hand with all thestrength of a palm which had become very shaky by the constant liftingup of weights of brandy-and-water, looked hard in Pen's face, and said,"Grecious heavens, is it possible? Me dear boy, me dear fellow, me dearfriend;" and then with a look of muddled curiosity, fairly broke downwith, "I know your face, me dear, dear friend, but, bedad, I've forgotyour name." Five years of constant punch had passed since Pen andCostigan met. Arthur was a good deal changed, and the captain may surelybe excused for forgetting him; when a man at the actual moment seesthings double, we may expect that his view of the past will be rathermuzzy.

  Pen saw his condition, and laughed, although, perhaps, he wassomewhat mortified. "Don't you remember me, captain?" he said. "I amPendennis--Arthur Pendennis of Chatteries."

  The sound of the young man's friendly voice recalled and steadied Cos'stipsy remembrance, and he saluted Arthur as soon as he knew him, with aloud volley of friendly greetings. Pen was his dearest boy, his gallantyoung friend, his noble collagian, whom he had held in his inmost heartever since they had parted--how was his fawther, no, his mother, and hisguardian, the general, the major. "I preshoom, from your apparance, thatyou've come into your prawpertee; and, bedad, yee'll spend it like a manof spirit--I'll go bail for _that_. No? not yet come into your estete?If ye want any thrifle, heark ye, there's poor old Jack Costigan has gota guinea or two in his pocket--and, be heavens! _you_ shall never want,Awthur, me dear boy. What'll ye have? John, come hither, and lookaloive; give this gentleman a glass of punch, and I'll pay for't.--Yourfriend? I've seen him before. Permit me to have the honor of makingmeself known to ye, sir, and requesting ye'll take a glass of punch."

  "I don't envy Sir Charles Mirabel his father-in-law," thought Pendennis."And how is my old friend, Mr. Bows, captain? Have you any news of him,and do you see him still?"

  "No doubt he's very well," said the captain, jingling his money, andwhistling the air of a song--"The Little Doodeen"--for the singing ofwhich he was celebrated at the Fielding's Head. "Me dear boy--I'veforgot your name again--but my name's Costigan, Jack Costigan, and I'dloike ye to take as many tumblers of punch in my name as ever ye loike.Ye know my name; I'm not ashamed of it." And so the captain wentmaundering on.

  "It's pay-day with the general," said Mr. Hodgen, the bass singer, withwhom Warrington was in deep conversation: "and he's a precious deal morethan half seas over. He has already tried that 'Little Doodeen' of his,and broke it, too, just before I sang 'King Death.' Have you heardmy new song, 'The Body Snatcher,' Mr. Warrington?--angcored at SaintBartholomew's the other night--composed expressly for me. Per'aps youor your friend would like a copy of the song, sir? John, just 'ave thekyndness to 'and over a 'Body Snatcher' 'ere, will yer?--There's aportrait of me, sir, as I sing it--as the Snatcher--considered ratherlike."

  "Thank you," said Warrington; "heard it nine times--know it by heart,Hodgen."

  Here the gentleman who presided at the piano-forte began to play uponhis instrument, and Pen, looking in the direction of the music, beheldthat very Mr. Bows, for whom he had been asking but now, and whoseexistence Costigan had momentarily forgotten. The little old man satebefore the battered piano (which had injured its constitution woefullyby sitting up so many nights, and spoke with a voice, as it were, atonce hoarse and faint), and accompanied the singers, or played withtaste and grace in the intervals of the songs.

  Bows had seen and recollected Pen at once when the latter came into theroom, and had remarked the eager warmth of the young man's recognitionof Costigan. He now began to play an air, which Pen instantly rememberedas one which used to be sung by the chorus of villagers in "TheStranger," just before Mrs. Haller came in. It shook Pen as he heard it.He remembered how his heart used to beat as that air was played, andbefore the divine Emily made her entry. Nobody, save Arthur, took anynotice of old Bows' playing: it was scarcely heard amid the clatter ofknives and forks, the calls for poached eggs and kidneys, and the trampof guests and waiters.

  Pen went up and kindly shook the player by the hand at the end of hisperformance; and Bows greeted Arthur with great respect and cordiality."What, you haven't forgot the old tune, Mr. Pendennis?" he said; "Ithought you'd remember it. I take it, it was the first tune of that sortyou ever heard played--wasn't it, sir? You were quite a young chap then.I fear the captain's very bad to-night. He breaks out on a pay-day; andI shall have the deuce's own trouble in getting home. We live together.We still hang on, sir, in partnership, though Miss Em--though my LadyMirabel has left the firm. And so you remember old times, do you? Wasn'tshe a beauty, sir? Your health and my service to you"--and he took a sipat the pewter measure of porter which stood by his side as he played.

  Pen had many opportunities of seeing his early acquaintances afterward,and of renewing his relations with Costigan and the old musician.

  * * * * *

  As they sate thus in friendly colloquy, men of all sorts andconditions entered and quitted the house of entertainment; and Pen hadthe pleasure of seeing as many different persons of his race, as themost eager observer need desire to inspect. Healthy country tradesmenand farmers, in London for their business, came and recreated themselveswith the jolly singing and suppers of the Back Kitchen--squads of youngapprentices and assistants, the shutters being closed over the scene oftheir labors, came hither, for fresh air doubtless--rakish young medicalstudents, gallant, dashing, what is called "loudly" dressed, and (mustit be owned?) somewhat dirty--were here smoking and drinking, andvociferously applauding the songs; young University bucks were to befound here, too, with that indescribable genteel simper which is onlylearned at the knees of Alma Mater; and handsome young guardsmen, andflorid bucks from the St. James's-street Clubs; nay, senators, Englishand Irish; and even membe
rs of the House of Peers.

  The bass singer had made an immense hit with his song of "The BodySnatcher," and the town rushed to listen to it. A curtain drew aside,and Mr. Hodgen appeared in the character of the Snatcher, sitting on acoffin, with a flask of gin before him, with a spade, and a candle stuckin a skull. The song was sung with a really admirable terrific humor.The singer's voice went down so low, that its grumbles rumbled into thehearer's awe-stricken soul; and in the chorus he clamped with his spade,and gave a demoniac "Ha! ha!" which caused the very glasses to quiveron the table, as with terror. None of the other singers, not evenCutts himself, as that high-minded man owned, could stand up beforethe Snatcher, and he commonly used to retire to Mrs. Cutts' privateapartments, or into the bar, before that fatal song extinguishedhim. Poor Cos's ditty, "The Little Doodeen," which Bows accompaniedcharmingly on the piano, was sung but to a few admirers, who mightchoose to remain after the tremendous resurrectionist chant. The roomwas commonly emptied after that, or only left in possession of a veryfew and persevering votaries of pleasure.

  While Pen and his friend were sitting here together one night, or rathermorning, two habitues of the house entered almost together. "Mr. Hoolanand Mr. Doolan," whispered Warrington to Pen, saluting these gentlemen,and in the latter Pen recognized his friend of the Alacrity coach, whocould not dine with Pen on the day on which the latter had invited him,being compelled by his professional duties to decline dinner-engagementson Fridays, he had stated, with his compliments to Mr. Pendennis.

  Doolan's paper, the Dawn, was lying on the table much bestained byporter, and cheek-by-jowl with Hoolan's paper, which we shall call theDay; the Dawn was liberal--the Day was ultra-conservative. Many of ourjournals are officered by Irish gentlemen, and their gallant brigadedoes the penning among us, as their ancestors used to transact thefighting in Europe; and engage under many a flag, to be good friendswhen the battle is over.

  "Kidneys, John, and a glass of stout," says Hoolan. "How are you,Morgan? how's Mrs. Doolan?"

  "Doing pretty well, thank ye, Mick, my boy--faith she's accustomed toit," said Doolan. "How's the lady that owns ye? Maybe I'll step downSunday, and have a glass of punch, Kilburn way."

  "Don't bring Patsey with you, Morgan, for Georgy's got the measles,"said the friendly Mick, and they straightway fell to talk about mattersconnected with their trade--about the foreign mails--about who wascorrespondent at Paris, and who wrote from Madrid--about the expensethe Morning Journal was at in sending couriers, about the circulation ofthe Evening Star, and so forth.

  Warrington, laughing, took the Dawn which was lying before him, andpointed to one of the leading articles in that journal, which commencedthus--

  "As rogues of note in former days who had some wicked work toperform--an enemy to be put out of the way, a quantity of false cointo be passed, a lie to be told, or a murder to be done--employed aprofessional perjurer or assassin to do the work, which they werethemselves too notorious or too cowardly to execute; our notoriouscontemporary, the 'Day,' engages smashers out of doors to utterforgeries against individuals, and calls in auxiliary cut-throats tomurder the reputation of those who offend him. A black vizarded ruffian(whom we will unmask), who signs the forged name of Trefoil, is atpresent one of the chief bravoes and bullies in our contemporary'sestablishment. He is the eunuch who brings the bowstring, and stranglesat the order of the Day. We can convict this cowardly slave, and proposeto do so. The charge which he has brought against Lord Bangbanagher,because he is a liberal Irish peer, and against the Board of Poor LawGuardians of the Bangbanagher Union, is," &c.

  "How did they like the article at your place, Mick?" asked Morgan, "whenthe captain puts his hand to it he's a tremendous hand at a smasher. Hewrote the article in two hours--in--whew--you know where, while the boywas waiting."

  "Our governor thinks the public don't mind a straw about these newspaperrows, and has told the docthor to stop answering," said the other. "Themtwo talked it out together in my room. The docthor would have liked aturn, for he says it's such easy writing, and requires no reading up ofa subject; but the governor put a stopper on him."

  "The taste for eloquence is going out, Mick," said Morgan.

  "'Deed then it is, Morgan," said Mick. "That was fine writing when thedocthor wrote in the Phaynix, and he and Condy Roony blazed away at eachother day after day."

  "And with powder and shot, too, as well as paper," says Morgan. "Faith,the docthor was out twice, and Condy Roony winged his man."

  "They are talking about Doctor Boyne and Captain Shandon," Warringtonsaid, "who are the two Irish controversialists of the 'Dawn' and the'Day,' Dr. Boyne being the Protestant champion, and Captain Shandon theliberal orator. They are the best friends in the world, I believe, inspite of their newspaper controversies; and though they cry out againstthe English for abusing their country, by Jove they abuse it themselvesmore in a single article than we should take the pains to do in a dozenvolumes. How are you, Doolan?"

  "Your servant, Mr. Warrington--Mr. Pendennis, I am delighted to have thehonor of seeing ye again. The night's journey on the top of the Alacritywas one of the most agreeable I ever enjoyed in my life, and it was yourliveliness and urbanity that made the trip so charming. I have oftenthought over that happy night, sir, and talked over it to Mrs. Doolan.I have seen your elegant young friend, Mr. Foker, too, here, sir, notunfrequently. He is an occasional frequenter of this hostelry, and aright good one it is. Mr. Pendennis, when I saw you I was on the Tomand Jerry Weekly Paper; I have now the honor to be sub-editor of theDawn, one of the best written papers of the empire"--and he bowed veryslightly to Mr. Warrington. His speech was unctuous and measured, hiscourtesy oriental, his tone, when talking with the two Englishmen, quitedifferent to that with which he spoke to his comrade.

  "Why the devil will the fellow compliment so?" growled Warrington, witha sneer which he hardly took the pains to suppress. "Psha--who comeshere?--all Parnassus is abroad to-night: here's Archer. We shall havesome fun. Well, Archer, House up?"

  "Haven't been there. I have been," said Archer, with an air of mystery,"where I was wanted. Get me some supper, John--something substantial. Ihate your grandees who give you nothing to eat. If it had been at ApsleyHouse, it would have been quite different. The duke knows what I like,and says to the Groom of the Chambers, 'Martin, you will have some coldbeef, not too much done, and a pint bottle of pale ale, and some brownsherry, ready in my study as usual: Archer is coming here this evening.'The duke doesn't eat supper himself, but he likes to see a man enjoy ahearty meal, and he knows that I dine early. A man can't live upon air,be hanged to him."

  "Let me introduce you to my friend, Mr. Pendennis," Warrington said,with great gravity. "Pen, this is Mr. Archer, whom you have heard metalk about. You must know Pen's uncle, the major, Archer, you who knowevery body."

  "Dined with him the day before yesterday at Gaunt House," Archer said."We were four--the French embassador, Steyne, and we two commoners."

  "Why, my uncle is in Scot--" Pen was going to break out, but Warringtonpressed his foot under the table as a signal for him to be quiet.

  "It was about the same business that I have been to the palace to-night,"Archer went on simply, "and where I've been kept four hours, in anante-room, with nothing but yesterday's Times, which I knew by heart,as I wrote three of the leading articles myself; and though the lordchamberlain came in four times, and once holding the royal teacup andsaucer in his hand, he did not so much as say to me, 'Archer, will youhave a cup of tea?'"

  "Indeed! what is in the wind now?" asked Warrington--and turning to Pen,added, "You know, I suppose, that when there is any thing wrong atcourt, they always send for Archer."

  "There is something wrong," said Mr. Archer, "and as the story will beall over the town in a day or two I don't mind telling it.--At the lastChantilly races, where I rode Brian Boru for my old friend the Dukede St. Cloud--the old king said to me, Archer, I'm uneasy about SaintCloud. I have arranged his marriage with the Princess Marie Cunegonde;the pea
ce of Europe depends upon it--for Russia will declare war if themarriage does not take place, and the young fool is so mad about MadameMassena, Marshal Massena's wife, that he actually refuses to be a partyto the marriage. Well, sir, I spoke to Saint Cloud, and having got himinto pretty good humor by winning the race, and a good bit of money intothe bargain, he said to me, 'Archer, tell the governor I'll think ofit.'"

  "How do you say governor in French," asked Pen, who piqued himself onknowing that language.

  "Oh, we speak in English--I taught him when we were boys, and I savedhis life at Twickenham, when he fell out of a punt," Archer said. "Ishall never forget the queen's looks as I brought him out of the water.She gave me this diamond ring, and always calls me Charles to this day."

  "Madame Massena must be rather an old woman, Archer," Warrington said.

  "Dev'lish old--old enough to be his grandmother; I told him so," Archeranswered at once. "But those attachments for old women are the deuce andall. That's what the king feels: that's what shocks the poor queen somuch. They went away from Paris last Tuesday night, and are living atthis present moment at Jaunay's hotel."

  "Has there been a private marriage, Archer?" asked Warrington.

  "Whether there has or not I don't know," Mr. Archer replied; "all I knowis that I was kept waiting four hours at the palace; that I never saw aman in such a state of agitation as the King of Belgium when he came outto speak to me, and that I'm devilish hungry--and here comes somesupper."

  "He has been pretty well to-night," said Warrington, as the pair wenthome together: "but I have known him in much greater force, and keepinga whole room in a state of wonder. Put aside his archery practice,that man is both able and honest--a good man of business, an excellentfriend, admirable to his family as husband, father, and son."

  "What is it makes him pull the long bow in that wonderful manner?"

  "An amiable insanity," answered Warrington. "He never did any body harmby his talk, or said evil of any body. He is a stout politician too, andwould never write a word or do an act against his party, as many of usdo."

  "Of _us_! Who are _we_?" asked Pen. "Of what profession is Mr. Archer?"

  "Of the Corporation of Goosequill--of the Press, my boy," saidWarrington; "of the fourth estate."

  "Are you, too, of the craft, then?" Pendennis said.

  "We will talk about that another time," answered the other. They werepassing through the Strand as they talked, and by a newspaper office,which was all lighted up and bright. Reporters were coming out of theplace, or rushing up to it in cabs; there were lamps burning in theeditors' rooms, and above, where the compositors were at work: thewindows of the building were in a blaze of gas.

  "Look at that, Pen," Warrington said. "There she is--the greatengine--she never sleeps. She has her embassadors in every quarter ofthe world--her couriers upon every road. Her officers march alongwith armies, and her envoys walk into statesmen's cabinets. They areubiquitous. Yonder journal has an agent, at this minute, giving bribesat Madrid; and another inspecting the price of potatoes in CoventGarden. Look! here comes the Foreign Express galloping in. They will beable to give news to Downing-street to-morrow: funds will rise or fall,fortunes be made or lost; Lord B. will get up, and, holding the paper inhis hand, and seeing the noble marquis in his place, will make a greatspeech; and--and Mr. Doolan will be called away from his supper at theBack Kitchen; for he is foreign sub-editor, and sees the mail on thenewspaper sheet before he goes to his own."

  And so talking, the friends turned into their chambers, and the dawn wasbeginning to peep.