to the outer; and sundry recollections of "Gil Blas" and the "Vicar of
Wakefield" came athwart me. I had no wish to emulate the worthy Moses,
and felt that I might not have even the shagreen spectacles to boast of
in my negotiations with this new Mr. Jenkinson. Accordingly, shaking my
head, I called for my bill. As I took out my purse,--knit by my
mother,--with one gold piece in one corner, and sundry silver ones in
the other, I saw that the eyes of Mr. Peacock twinkled.

"Poor spirit, sir! poor spirit, young man! 'This avarice sticks deep,'
as the Swan beautifully observes. 'Nothing venture, nothing have.'"

"Nothing have, nothing venture," I returned, plucking up spirit.

"Nothing have! Young sir, do you doubt my solidity--my capital--my
'golden joys'?"

"Sir, I spoke of myself. I am not rich enough to gamble."

"Gamble!" exclaimed Mr. Peacock, in virtuous indignation--" gamble!
what do you mean, sir? You insult me!" and he rose threateningly, and
slapped his white hat on his wig. "Pshaw! let him alone, Hal," said
the boy, contemptuously. "Sir, if he is impertinent, thrash him."
(This was to me.) "Impertinent! thrash!" exclaimed Mr. Peacock, waxing
very red; but catching the sneer on his companion's lip, he sat down,
and subsided into sullen silence.

Meanwhile I paid my bill. This duty--rarely a cheerful one--performed,
I looked round for my knapsack, and perceived that it was in the boy's
hands. He was very coolly reading the address, which, in case of
accidents, I prudently placed on it: "Pisistratus Caxton, Esq.,--