As Frankpledge entered, he could not help casting a sheep's eye towards a table that glistened with such an array of "papers," (a tasteful arrangement of Mr. Mortmain's clerk before every consultation;) and down sat the two conveyancers and the two attorneys. I devoutly wish I had time to describe the scene at length; but greater events are pressing upon me. The two conveyancers fenced with one another for some time very guardedly and good-humoredly: pleasant was it to observe the conscious condescension of Mortmain, the anxious energy and volubility of Frankpledge. When Mr. Mortmain said anything that seemed weighty or pointed, Quirk looked with an elated air, a quick triumphant glance, at Gammon; who, in his turn, whenever Mr. Frankpledge quoted an "old case" from Bendloe, Godbolt, or the Year Books, (which, having always piqued himself on his almost exclusive acquaintance with the modern cases, he made a point of doing,) gazed at Quirk with a smile of placid superiority. Mr. Frankpledge talked almost the whole time; Mr. Mortmain, immovable in the view of the case which he had taken in his "opinion," listened with an attentive, good-natured air, ruminating pleasantly the while upon the quality of the port he had been drinking, (the first of the bin which he had tasted,) and upon the decision which the Chancellor might come to on a case brought into court on his advice, and which had been argued that afternoon. At last Frankpledge unwittingly fell foul of a favorite crotchet of Mortmain's—and at it they went, hammer and tongs, for nearly twenty minutes, (it had nothing whatever to do with the case they were consulting upon.) In the end, Mortmain of course adhered to his points, and Frankpledge intrenched himself in his books; each slightly yielded to the views of the other on immaterial points, (or what would have appeared the use of the consultation?) but did that which both had resolved upon doing from the first, i. e. sticking to his original opinion. Both had talked an amazing deal of deep law, which had at least one effect, viz. it fairly drowned both Quirk and Gammon, who, as they went home, with not (it must be owned) the clearest perceptions in the world of what had been going on, (though, before going to the consultation, each had really known something about the case,) stood each stoutly by his conveyancer's opinion, each protesting that he had never been once misled—Quirk by Mortmain, or Gammon by Frankpledge—and each resolved to give his man more of the conveyancing business of the house than he had before. I grieve to add, that they parted that night with a trifle less of cordiality than had been their wont. In the morning, however, this little irritation had passed away; and they agreed, before giving up the case, to take the final opinion of Mr. TRESAYLE—the great Mr. Tresayle. He was, indeed, a wonderful conveyancer—a perfect miracle of real-property law-learning. He had had such an enormous practice for forty-five years, that for the last ten he had never put his nose out of chambers for pure want of time, and at last of inclination; and had been so conversant with Norman French and law Latin, in the old English letter, that he had almost entirely forgotten how to write the modern English character. His opinions made their appearance in three different kinds of handwriting. First, one that none but he and his old clerk could make out; secondly, one that none but he himself could read; and thirdly, one that neither he, nor his clerk, nor any one on earth, could decipher. The use of any one of these styles depended on—the difficulty of the case to be answered. If it were an easy one, the answer was very judiciously put into No. I.; if rather difficult, it, of course, went into No. II.; and if exceedingly difficult, (and also important,) it was very properly thrown into No. III.; being a question that really ought not to have been asked, and did not deserve an answer. The fruit within these uncouth shells, however, was precious. Mr. Tresayle's law was supreme over everybody's else. It was currently reported that Lord Eldon even (who was himself slightly acquainted with such subjects) reverently deferred to the authority of Mr. Tresayle; and would lie winking and knitting his shaggy eyebrows half the night, if he thought that Mr. Tresayle's opinion on a case, and his own, differed. This was the great authority to whom, as in the last resort, Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap resolved to appeal. To his chambers they, within a day or two after their consultation at Mr. Mortmain's, despatched their case, (making no mention of the opinion which had been previously taken,) with a highly respectable fee, and a special compliment to his clerk, hoping to hear from that awful quarter within a month—which was the earliest average period within which Mr. Tresayle's opinions found their way to his patient but anxious clients. It came at length, with a note from Mr. Prim, his clerk, intimating that they would find him, i. e. the aforesaid Mr. Prim, at his chambers the next morning, prepared to explain the opinion to them; having just had it read over to him by Mr. Tresayle, for it proved to be in No. II. The opinion occupied about two pages; and the handwriting bore a strong resemblance to Chinese or Arabic, with a quaint intermixture of the uncial Greek character—it was impossible to contemplate it without a certain feeling of awe! In vain did old Quirk squint at it, from all corners, for nearly a couple of hours, (having first called in the assistance of a friend of his, an old attorney of upwards of fifty years' standing;) nay—even Mr. Gammon, foiled at length, could not for the life of him refrain from a soft curse or two. Neither of them could make anything of it—(as for Snap, they never showed it to him; it was not within his province—i. e. the Insolvent Debtors' Court, the Old Bailey, the Clerkenwell Sessions, the Police Offices, the inferior business of the Common Law Courts, and the worrying of the clerks of the office—a department in which he was perfection itself.)

To their great delight, Mr. Tresayle took Mr. Mortmain's view of the case. Nothing could be more terse, perspicuous, and conclusive than the great man's opinion. Mr. Quirk was in raptures, and that very day sent to procure an engraving of Mr. Tresayle, which had lately come out, for which he paid 5s., and ordered it to be framed and hung up in his own room, where already grinned a quaint resemblance, in black profile, of Mr. Mortmain, cheek by jowl with that of a notorious traitor who had been hanged in spite of Mr. Quirk's best exertions. In special good-humor, he assured Mr. Gammon, (who was plainly somewhat crestfallen about Mr. Frankpledge,) that everybody must have a beginning; that even he himself (Mr. Quirk) had been once only a beginner.

Once fairly on the scent, Messrs. Quirk and Gammon soon began, secretly but energetically, to push their inquiries in all directions. They discovered that Gabriel Tittlebat Titmouse, having spent the chief portion of his blissful days as a cobbler at Whitehaven, had died in London, somewhere about the year 1793. At this point they stood for a long while, in spite of two advertisements, to which they had been driven with the greatest reluctance, for fear of attracting the attention of those most interested in thwarting their efforts. Even that part of the affair had been managed somewhat skilfully. It was a stroke of Mr. Gammon's to advertise not for "Heir-at-Law," but "Next of Kin," as the reader has seen. The former might have challenged the notice of unfriendly curiosity, which the latter was hardly calculated to attract. At length—at the "third time of asking"—up turned Tittlebat Titmouse, in the way which we have seen. His relationship with Mr. Gabriel Tittlebat Titmouse was indisputable; in fact, he was (to adopt his own words) that "deceased person's" son and heir-at-law.

The reader may guess the chagrin and disgust of Mr. Gammon at the appearance, manners, and character of the person whom he fully believed, on first seeing him at Messrs. Tag-rag's, to be the rightful owner of the fine estates held by one who, as against Mr. Titmouse, had no more real title to them than had Mr. Tag-rag; and for whom their house was to undertake the very grave risk and expense of instituting such proceedings as would be requisite to place Mr. Titmouse in the position which they believed him entitled to occupy—having to encounter a hot and desperate opposition at every point, from those who had nine-tenths of the law—to wit, possession—on their side, on which they stood as upon a rock; and with immense means for carrying on the war defensive. That Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap did not contemplate undertaking all this, without having calculated upon its proving well worthy their while, was only reasonable. They were going voluntarily to become the means of conferring immense benefits upon one who was a total stranger to them—who had not a penny to spend upon the prosecution of his own rights. Setting aside certain difficulties which collected themselves into two awkward words, MAINTENANCE and CHAMPERTY, and stared them in the face whenever they contemplated any obvious method of securing the just reward of their enterprise and toils—setting aside all this, I say, it might turn out, only after a ruinous expenditure had been incurred, that the high authorities which had sanctioned their proceedings in point of law, had expressed their favorable opinions on a state of facts, which, however satisfactorily they looked on paper, could not be substantiated, if keenly sifted, and determinedly resisted. All this, too—all their time, labor, and money, to go for nothing—on behalf of a vulgar, selfish, ignorant, presumptuous, ungrateful puppy, like Titmouse!—Well indeed, therefore, might Mr. Gammon, as we have seen he did, give himself and partners a forty-eight hours' interval, between his interview with Titmouse and formal introduction of him to the firm, in which to consider their position and mode of procedure. The taste of his quality which that first interview afforded them all—so far surpassing all that the bitter description of him given to them by Mr. Gammon had prepared them for—filled the partners with inexpressible disgust, and would have induced them to throw up the whole affair—so getting rid both of it, and of him, together. But then, on the other hand, there were certain very great advantages, both of a professional and even directly pecuniary kind, which it would have been madness indeed for any office lightly to throw away. It was really, after all, an unequal struggle between feeling and interest. If they should succeed in unseating the present wrongful possessor of a very splendid property, and putting in his place the rightful owner, by means alone of their own professional ability, perseverance, and heavy pecuniary outlay, (a fearful consideration, truly, but Mr. Quirk had scraped together some thirty thousand pounds!) what recompense could be too great for such resplendent services? To say nothing of the eclat which it would gain for their office, in the profession and in the world at large, and the substantial and permanent advantages to the firm, if, as they ought to be, they were intrusted with the general management of the property by the new and inexperienced and confiding owner—ay, but there was the rub! What a disheartening and disgusting specimen of such new owner had disclosed itself to their anxiously expecting but soon recoiling eyes—always, however, making due allowances for one or two cheering indications, on Mr. Titmouse's part, of a certain rapacious and litigious humor, which might hereafter right pleasantly and profitably occupy their energies! Their professional position, and their interests had long made them sharp observers; but when did ever before low and disgusting qualities force themselves into revolting prominence, as those of Mr. Titmouse had done, in the very moment of an expected display of the better feelings of human nature—such as enthusiastic gratitude? They had, in their time, had to deal with some pleasant specimens of humanity, to be sure; but when with any more odious and impracticable than Tittlebat Titmouse threatened to prove himself? What hold could they get upon such a character as his? Beneath all his coarseness and weakness, there was a glimmer of low cunning which might suffice to keep their superior and practised astuteness at its full stretch. These were difficulties, cheerless enough in the contemplation, truly; but, nevertheless, the partners could not bear the idea of escaping from them by throwing up the affair altogether. Then came the question—How were they to manage Mr. Titmouse?—how acquire an early and firm hold of him, so as to convert him into a capital client? His fears and his interests were obviously the engines with which their experienced hands were to work; and several long and most anxious consultations had Messrs. Quirk and Gammon had on this important matter. The first great question with them was—To what extent, and when, they should acquaint him with the nature of his expectations.

Gammon was for keeping him comparatively in the dark, till success was within reach: during that interval, (which might be a long one,) by alternately stimulating his hopes and fears; by habituating him to an entire dependence on them; by persuading him of the prodigious extent of their exertions and sacrifices on his behalf—they might do something; mould him into a shape fit for their purposes, and persuade him that his affairs must needs go to ruin but in their hands. Something like this was the scheme of the cautious, acute, and placid Gammon. Mr. Quirk, however, (with whom, as will be hereafter shown, had originated the whole discovery,) thought thus:—tell the fellow at once the whole extent of what we can do for him, viz. turn a half-starving linen-draper's shopman into the owner of L10,000 a-year, and of a great store of ready money. This will, in a manner, stun him into submission, and make him at once and for all what we want him to be. He will immediately fall prostrate with reverent gratitude—looking at us, moreover, as three gods, who, at our will, can shut him out of heaven. "That's the way to bring down your bird," said Mr. Quirk; and Mr. Quirk had been forty years in practice—had made the business what it was—still held half of it in his own hands, (two-thirds of the remaining half being Gammon's, and the residue Snap's:) and Gammon, moreover, had a very distinct perception that the funds for carrying on the war would come out of the tolerably well-stored pockets of the august head of the firm. So, after a long discussion, he openly yielded his opinion to that of Mr. Quirk—cherishing, however, a very warm respect for it in his own bosom. As for Snap, that distinguished member of the firm was very little consulted in the matter; which had not yet been brought to that stage where his powerful energies could come into play. He had of course, however, heard a good deal of what was going on; and knew that ere long there would be the copying out and serving of the Lord knows how many copies of declarations in ejectment, motions against the casual ejector, and so forth—so far at least as he was "up to" all those quaint and anomalous proceedings. It had, therefore, been at length agreed that the communication to Titmouse, on his first interview, of the full extent of his splendid expectations, should depend upon the discretion of Mr. Quirk. The reader has seen the unexpected turn which matters took upon that important occasion; and if it proved Quirk's policy to be somewhat inferior in point of discretion and long-sightedness to that of Gammon, still it must be owned that the latter had cause to admire the rapid generalship with which Mr. Quirk had obviated the consequences of his false move—not ill seconded by Snap. What could have been more judicious than his reception of Titmouse, on the occasion of his being led in again by the subtle Gammon?

The next and greatest matter was, how to obtain any hold upon such a person as Titmouse had shown himself, so as to secure to themselves, in the event of success, the remuneration to which they considered themselves entitled. Was it so perfectly clear that, if he felt disposed to resist it, they could compel him to pay the mere amount of their bill of costs?

Suppose he should turn round upon them, and have their BILL TAXED—Mr. Quirk grunted with fright at the bare thought. Then there was a slapping quiddam honorarium extra—undoubtedly for that they must, they feared, trust to the honor and gratitude of Mr. Titmouse; and a pretty taste of the quality of that animal they had already experienced! Such a disposition as his, to have to rely upon for the prompt settlement of a bill of thousands of pounds of costs! and, besides that, to have it to look to for the payment of at least some five or perhaps ten thousand pounds douceur—nay, and this was not all. Mr. Quirk had, as well as Mr. Gammon, cast many an anxious eye on the following passages from Blackstone's Commentaries:—

"MAINTENANCE is an officious intermeddling in a suit that no way belongs to one, by 'maintaining' or assisting either party with money, or otherwise, to prosecute or defend it.... It is an offence against public justice, as it keeps alive strife and contention, and perverts the remedial process of the law into an engine of oppression.... The punishment by common law is fine and imprisonment, and by statute 32 Hen. VIII. c. 9, a forfeiture of L10!

"CHAMPERTY—(campi partitio)—is a species of Maintenance, and punished in the same manner; being a bargain with a plaintiff or defendant 'campum partiri,' to divide the land, or other matter sued for, between them, if they prevail at law; whereupon the champertor is to carry on the suit at his own expense.... These pests of civil society, that are perpetually endeavoring to disturb the repose of their neighbors, and officiously interfering in other men's quarrels, even at the hazard of their own fortunes, were severely animadverted on by the Roman law; and they were punished by the forfeiture of a third part of their goods, and perpetual infamy."[4]

These were pleasant passages surely!——

Many were the conversations and consultations which the partners had had with Messrs. Mortmain and Frankpledge respectively, upon the interesting question, whether there were any mode of at once securing themselves against the ingratitude of Titmouse, and protecting themselves against the penalties of the law. It made old Mr. Quirk's bald head, even, flush all over whenever he thought of their bill being taxed, or contemplated himself the inmate of a prison, (above all, at his advanced time of life,) with mournful leisure to meditate upon the misdeeds that had sent him thither, to which profitable exercise the legislature would have specially stimulated him by a certain fine above mentioned. As for Gammon, he knew there must be a way of doing the thing somehow or another; for his friend Frankpledge felt infinitely less difficulty in the way than Mortmain, whom he considered a timid and old-fashioned practitioner. The courts, said Mr. Frankpledge, were now setting their faces strongly against the doctrine of Maintenance, as being founded on a bygone state of things: cessante ratione cessat et ipsa lex, was his favorite maxim. There was no wrong without a remedy, he said; and was there not a wrong in the case of a poor man wrongfully deprived of his own? And how could this be remedied, if the old law of Maintenance stood like a bugbear in the way of humane and spirited practitioners? Was no one to be at liberty to take up the cause of the oppressed, encouraged by the prospect of an ample recompense? It might be said, perhaps—let the claimant sue in forma pauperis: but then he must swear that he is not worth five pounds; and a man may not be able to take that oath, and yet be unequal to the commencement of a suit requiring the outlay of thousands. Moreover, a pretty prospect it was for such a suitor, (in forma pauperis,) if he should happen to be nonsuited—to be "put to his election, whether to be whipped or pay the costs."[5] Thus reasoned within himself that astute person, Mr. Frankpledge; and at length satisfied himself that he had framed an instrument which would "meet the case"—that "would hold water." To the best of my recollection, it was a BOND, conditioned to pay the sum of ten thousand pounds to Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, within two months of Titmouse's being put into possession of the rents and profits of the estate in question. The condition of that bond was, as its framer believed, drawn in a masterly manner; and his draft was lying before Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, on the Wednesday morning, (i. e. the day after Titmouse's interview with them,) and had succeeded at length in exciting the approbation of Mr. Quirk himself; when—whew!—down came a note from Mr. Frankpledge, to the effect that, "since preparing the draft bond," he had "had reason slightly to modify his original opinion," owing to his "having lit upon a LATE CASE," in which an instrument precisely similar to the one which he had prepared for his admiring clients, had been held "totally ineffectual and void both at law and in equity." I say, Mr. Frankpledge's note was to that effect; for so ingeniously had he framed it—so effectually concealed his retreat beneath a little cloud of contradictory authorities, like as the ink-fish, they say, eludeth its pursuers—that his clients cursed the law, not their draftsman; and, moreover, by prudently withholding the name of the "late case," he, at all events for a while, had prevented their observing that it was senior to some eight or ten cases which (indefatigable man!) he had culled for them out of the legal garden, and arrayed on the back of his draft. Slightly disconcerted were Messrs. Quirk and Gammon, it may be believed, at this new view of the "result of the authorities." "Mortmain is always right!" said Quirk, looking hard at Gammon; who observed simply that one day Frankpledge would be as old as Mortmain then was—by which time (thought he) I also know where—please God—you will be, my old friend, if there's any truth in the Scriptures! In this pleasant frame of mind were the partners, when the impudent apparition of Huckaback presented itself, in the manner which has been described. Huckaback's commentary upon the disgusting text of Titmouse over-night, (as a lawyer would say, in analogy to a well-known term, "Coke upon Littleton,") produced an effect upon their minds which may be easily imagined. It was while their minds were under these two soothing influences, i. e. of the insolence of Huckaback and the vacillation of Frankpledge, that Mr. Gammon had penned the note to Titmouse, (surely, under the circumstances, one of extraordinary temper and forbearance,) which had occasioned him the agonies I have been attempting faintly to describe;—and that Quirk, summoning Snap into the room, had requested him to give orders for denial to Titmouse if he should again make his appearance at the office; which injunction Snap forthwith delivered in the clerk's room, in a tone and manner that were a very model of the imperative mood.

A day or two afterwards, Mr. Quirk, (who was a man that stuck like a limpet to a rock to any point which occurred to him,) in poring over that page in the fourth volume of Blackstone's Commentaries, where were to be found the passages which have been already quoted, (and which both Quirk and Gammon had long had off by heart,) as he sat one day at dinner, at home, whither he had taken the volume in question, fancied he had at last hit upon a notable crotchet, which, the more he thought of, the more he was struck with; determining to pay a visit in the morning to Mr. Mortmain. The spark of light that had twinkled till it kindled in the tinder of his mind, was struck by his hard head out of the following sentence of the text in question:—

"A man may, however, maintain the suit of his near kinsman, servant, or POOR NEIGHBOR, out of charity and compassion, with impunity; otherwise, the punishment is," &c. &c.[6]

Now, it seemed to Mr. Quirk, that the words which I have placed in italics and small capitals, met the case of poor Tittlebat Titmouse exactly. He stuck to that view of the case, till he almost began to think that he really had a kind of a sort of a charity and compassion for poor Tittlebat—kept out of his rights—tyrannized over by a vulgar draper in Oxford Street—where, too, no doubt, he was half starved.—"It's a great blessing that one's got the means—and the inclination, to serve one's poor neighbors"—thought Quirk, as he swallowed glass after glass of the wine that maketh glad the heart of man—and also softens it;—for the more he drank, the more and more pitiful became his mood—the more sensitive was he to compassionate suggestions; and by the time that he had finished the decanter, he was all but in tears! These virtuous feelings brought their own reward, too—for, from time to time, they conjured up, as it were, the faint rainbow image of a bond conditioned for the payment of TEN THOUSAND POUNDS!

To change the metaphor a little—by the time that old Quirk had reached his office in the morning, the heated iron had cooled. If his heart had retained any of the maudlin softness of the preceding evening, the following pathetic letter from Titmouse might have made a very deep impression upon it, and fixed him, in the benevolent and disinterested mind of the old lawyer, as indeed his "poor neighbor." The following is an exact copy of that lucid and eloquent composition. It had been written by Mr. Titmouse, all out of his own head; and with his own hand had he left it at the office, at a late hour on the preceding evening.

"To Messrs. QUERK, GAMON, and SNAPE.

"GENTS,

"Y^r Esteem'd Favor lies now before Me, which must Say have Given me Much Concern, seeing I Thought it was All Made up betwixt us That was of Such an Unpleasant Nature on Tuesday night (ultimo) w^h I most humbly Own (and Acknowledge) was all alone and intirely of My Own Fault, and Not in the Least Your's which behaved to me, Must say, In the most Respectful and superior manner that was possible to think Of, for I truly Say I never was In the Company of Such Imminent and Superior Gents before In my Life w^h will take my Oath sincerely Of, Gents. Please to consider the Brandy (w^h do think was Uncommon Stiff) such a flustrum As I was In before, to, w^h was Evident to All of Us there then Assemblid and very natral like to be the Case Seeing I have nevir known what Peas of Mind was since I behaved in Such a Oudacious way w^h truly was the case I can't Deny to Such Gents as Yourselfs that were doing me such Good Fortune And Kindness to me as it would Be a Dreadful sin and shame (such as Trust I can never be Guilty of) to be (w^h am not) and never Can Be insensible Of, Gents do Consider all this Favorably because of my humble Amends w^h I here Make with the greatest Trouble in my Mind that I have Had Ever Since, it was all of the Sperrits I Tooke w^h made me Go On at such a Rate w^h was always (beg to Assure y^r most resp^e house) the Case Since my birth when I took Sperrits never so little Since I had the Meazles when I was 3 Years Old as I Well Recollect and hope it will be Born in Mind what is Often Said, and I'm Sure I've read it Somewhere Else that People that Is Drunk Always speaks the Direct Contrarywise of their True and Real Thoughts. (w^h am Certain never was any Thing Truer in my case) so as I get the Money or What not, do whatever you Like w^h are quite welcome to Do if you please, and No questions Asked, don't Mind saying by The Way It shall Be As Good as L200 note in The way of your resp^e House if I Get the Estate of w^h am much in Want of. Mr. Gamon (w^h is the most Upright gent that ever I came across in All my Life) will tell you that I Was Quite Cut up when he came After me in that kind Way and told him Then how I loved y^r Respect^e House and would do all In My power to Serve You, which see if I Don't, I was in Such a rage with that Fellow (He's only in a Situation in Tottenham C^t Road) Huckaback which is his true name it was an oudacious thing, and have given him such a Precious Good hiding last Night as you never saw when on his Bendid Knees He asked the pardon of your Respectable House, say^g nothing of Me w^h w^d not allow because I said I would Not Forgive Him because he had not injured me: But you, w^h I wonder at his Impudence in Calling on Professional Gents like you, if I get the Estate shall never cease to Think well of you and mean While how full of Trouble I am Often Thinking Of Death which is the End of Every Thing And then in that Case who will the Property Go to Seeing I Leave never a Brother or Sister Behind me. And Therefore Them That w^d Get it I Feel Sure of w^d Not do So well by you (if You will Only believe Me) So Gents. This is All at present That I will Make so Bold to trouble you With About my Unhappy Affairs Only to say That am used most Intolerably Bad now In The Shop quite Tyranicall And Mr. Tag-Rag as Set Them All Against Me and I shall Never Get Another Situat^n for want of a Char^r which he will give me say^g noth^g at Present of the Sort of Victules w^h give me Now to Eat Since Monday last, For Which am Sure the Devil must have Come In to That Gentleman (Mr. Tag-rag, he was only himself in a Situation in Holborn once, gett^g the Business by marry^g the widow w^h wonder At for he is nothing Particular to Look At.) I am y^rs

Humbly to Command Till Death (always Humbly Begging pardon for the bad Conduct w^h was guilty of when In Liquor Especially On an Empty Stomach, Having Taken Nothing all that Day excepting what I could not Eat,)

"Your's most Resp^y "TITTLEBAT TITMOUSE.

"P. S. Will Bring That young Man with Tears In his Eyes to Beg y^r pardon Over again If You Like w^h will Solemnly Swear if Required That he did It all of His own Head And that Have given It him For it in the Way That is Written Above And humbly Trust You Will make Me So happy Once more by writing To Me (if it is only a Line) To say You Have Thought No more of it T. T. No. 9 Closet C^t. Oxford Street. 14/7/18—"

This exquisitely-skilful epistle might indeed have brought tears into Mr. Quirk's eyes, if he had been used to the melting mood, which he was not; having never been seen actually to shed a tear but once—when five-sixths of his little bill of costs (L196, 15s. 4d.) were taxed off in an auction on a Bill of Exchange for L13.[7] As it was, he tweedled the letter about in his hands for about five minutes, in a musing mood, and then stepped with it into Mr. Gammon's room. That gentleman took the letter with an air of curiosity, and read it over; at every sentence (if indeed a sentence there was in it) bursting into soft laughter.

"Ha, ha, ha!" he laughed on concluding it—"a comical gentleman, Mr. Titmouse, upon my honor!"

"Funny—isn't it rather?" interposed Mr. Quirk, standing with his hands fumbling about in his breeches pockets.

"What a crawling despicable little rascal!—ha, ha, ha!"

"Why—I don't quite say that, either," said Quirk, doubtingly—"I—don't exactly look at it in that light!"

"My dear sir!" exclaimed Gammon, leaning back in his chair, and laughing rather heartily, (at least for him.)

"You can't leave off that laugh of yours," said Quirk, a little tartly; "but I must say I don't see anything in the letter to laugh at so particularly. It is written in a most respectful manner, and shows a proper feeling towards the House!"

"Ay! see how he speaks of me!" interrupted Gammon, with such a smile!—

"And doesn't he speak so of me? and all of us?"

"He'll let the house tread on him till he can tread on the house, I dare say."

"But you must own, Mr. Gammon, it shows we've licked him into shape a bit—eh?"

"Oh, it's a little vile creeping reptile now, and so it will be to the end of the chapter—of our proceedings; and when we've done everything—really, Mr. Quirk! if one were apt to lose one's temper, it would be to see such a thing as that put into possession of such a fortune."

"That may be, Mr. Gammon; but I really—hem!—trust—I've—a higher feeling!—To right—the injured"—— He could get no farther.

"Hem!" exclaimed Gammon.

The partners smiled at one another. A touch, or an attempted touch at disinterestedness!—and at Quirk's time of life!

"But he's now in a humor for training, at all events—isn't he?" exclaimed Quirk—"we've something now to go to work upon—gradually."

"Isn't that a leaf out of my book, Mr. Quirk?—isn't that exactly what"——

"Well, well—what does it signify?" interrupted Quirk, rather petulantly—"I've got a crotchet that'll do for us, yet, about the matter of law, and make all right and tight—so I'm going to Mortmain."

"I've got a little idea of my own of that sort, Mr. Quirk," said Gammon—"I've got an extract from Co-Litt—. I can't imagine how either of them could have missed it; and, as Frankpledge dines with me to-day, we shall talk it all over. But, by the way, Mr. Quirk, I should say, with all deference, that we'll take no more notice of this fellow till we've got some screw tight enough"——

"Why—all that may be very well; but you see, Gammon, the fellow seems the real heir, after all—and if he don't get it, no one can; and if he don't—we don't! eh?"

"There's a very great deal of force in that observation, Mr. Quirk—it gives one another view of the subject!"—said Gammon, emphatically:—and, tolerably well pleased with one another, they parted. If Quirk might be compared to an old file, Gammon was the oil!—so they got on, in the main, very well together. It hardly signifies what was the result of their interviews with their two conveyancers. The two partners met the next morning on ordinary business; and as each made no allusions whatever to the "crotchet" of the day before, it may be safely inferred that each had been satisfied by his conveyancer of having found out a mare's nest.

"I think, by the way," said Mr. Gammon to Mr. Quirk, before they parted on the previous evening, "it may be as well, all things considered, to acknowledge the receipt of the fellow's note—eh?—Can't do any harm, you know, and civility costs nothing—hem!"

"The very thing I was thinking of," replied Quirk, as he always did, on hearing any suggestion from Mr. Gammon. So by that night's post was despatched (post-paid) the following note to Mr. Titmouse:—

"Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap have the pleasure of acknowledging the receipt of Mr. Titmouse's polite letter of last night's date; and earnestly beg that he will not distress himself about the little incident that occurred at their office on Tuesday night, and which they assure him they have quite forgotten. They made all allowances, however their feelings suffered at the time. They beg Mr. T. will give them credit for not losing sight of his interests, to the best of their ability; obstructed as they are, however, by numerous serious difficulties. If they should be hereafter overcome, he may rest assured of their promptly communicating with him; and till then they trust Mr. T. will not inconvenience himself by calling on, or writing to them.

Saffron Hill, 15th July 18—.

"P. S.—Messrs. Q. G. and S. regret to hear that any unpleasantness has arisen (Gammon could hardly write for laughing) between Mr. Titmouse and his friend Mr. Hicklebagle, who, they assure him, manifested a very warm interest in behalf of Mr. T., and conducted himself with the greatest propriety on the occasion of his calling upon Messrs. Q. G. and S. They happened at that moment to be engaged in matters of the highest importance; which will, they trust, explain any appearance of abruptness they might have exhibited towards that gentleman. Perhaps Mr. Titmouse will be so obliging as to intimate as much to Mr. Hickerbag."

There was an obvious reason for this polite allusion to Huckaback. Gammon thought it very possible that that gentleman might be in Mr. Titmouse's confidence, and exercise a powerful influence over him hereafter; and that influence Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap might find it well worth their while to secure beforehand.

The moment that Titmouse, with breathless haste, had read over this mollifying document, which being directed to his lodgings correctly, he obtained as soon as he had got home, after quitting Mr. Tag-rag, about ten o'clock, he hastened to his friend Huckaback. That gentleman (who seemed now virtually recognized by Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap as Titmouse's confidant) shook his head ominously, exclaiming—"Blarny, blarny!" and a bitter sneer settled on his disagreeable features, till he had read down to the postscript; the perusal of which effected a sudden change in his feelings. He declared, with a great oath, that Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap were "perfect gentlemen," and would "do the right thing after all—Titmouse might depend upon it;" an assurance which greatly cheered Titmouse, to whose keen discernment it never once occurred to refer Huckaback's altered tone to the right cause, viz. the lubricating quality of the postscript; and since Titmouse did not allude to it, no more did Mr. Huckaback, although his own double misnomer stuck not a little in his throat. So effectual, indeed, had been that most skilful postscript upon the party at whom it had been aimed, that he exerted himself unceasingly to revive Titmouse's confidence in Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap; and so far succeeded, that Titmouse returned to his lodgings at a late hour, a somewhat happier, if not a wiser man than he had left them. By the time, however, that he had got into bed, having once more spelled over the note in question, he felt as despondent as ever, and thought that Huckaback had not known what he had been talking about. He also adverted to an apparently careless allusion by Huckaback to the injuries which had been inflicted upon him by Titmouse on the Wednesday night: and which, by the way, Huckaback determined it should be no fault of his if Titmouse easily forgot! He hardly knew why—but he disliked this particularly.—Whom had he, however, in the world, but Huckaback? In company with him alone, Titmouse felt that his pent-up feelings could discharge themselves. Huckaback had certainly a wonderful knack of keeping up Titmouse's spirits, whatever cause he fancied he might really have for depression. In short, he longed for the Sunday morning, ushering in a day of rest and sympathy. Titmouse would indeed then have to look back upon an agitating and miserable week, what with the dismal upsetting of his hopes in the manner I have described, and the tyrannical treatment which he had experienced at Tag-rag and Co.'s. His tormentor there, however, began at length, in some degree, to relax his active exertions against Titmouse, simply because of the exertion requisite for keeping them up. He attributed the pallid cheek and depressed manner of Titmouse entirely to the discipline which had been inflicted upon him at the shop; and was gratified at perceiving that all his other young men seemed, especially in his presence, to have imbibed his hatred of Titmouse. What produced in Tag-rag this hatred of Titmouse? Simply what had taken place on the Monday. Mr. Tag-rag's dignity and power had been doggedly set at nought by one of his shopmen, who had since refused to make the least submission, or offer any kind of apology. Such conduct struck at the root of subordination in his great establishment. Again, there is perhaps nothing in the world so calculated to enrage a petty and vulgar mind to the highest pitch of malignity, as the cool persevering defiance of an inferior, whom it strives to despise, while it is only hating, feeling at the same time such to be the case. Tag-rag now and then, when he looked towards Titmouse, as he stood behind the counter, felt as though he could have killed the little ape. Titmouse attempted once or twice, during the week, to obtain a situation elsewhere, but in vain. He could expect no character from Tag-rag; and when the 10th of August should have arrived, what was to become of him? These were the kind of thoughts often passing through his mind during the Sunday, which he and Huckaback spent together in unceasing conversation on the one absorbing event of the last week. Titmouse, poor little puppy, had dressed himself with just as much care as usual; but as he was giving the finishing touches at his toilet, pumping up grievous sighs every half minute, the sum of his reflections might be stated in the miserable significance of a quaint saying of Poor Richard's—"How hard is it to make an empty sack stand upright!"

Although the sun shone as vividly and beautifully as on the preceding Sunday, to Titmouse's saddened eye there seemed a sort of gloom everywhere. Up and down the Park he and Huckaback walked, towards the close of the afternoon; but Titmouse had not so elastic a strut as before. He felt empty and sinking. Everybody seemed to know what a sad pretender he was: and the friends quitted the magic circle much earlier than had been usual with Titmouse. What with the fatigue of a long day's saunter, the vexation of having had but a hasty, inferior, and unrefreshing meal, which did not deserve the name of dinner, and their unpleasant thoughts, both seemed depressed as they walked along the streets. At length they arrived at the open doors of a gloomy-looking building, into which two or three sad and prim-looking people were entering. After walking a few paces past the door—"Do you know, Huck," said Titmouse, stopping, "I've often thought that—that—there's something in Religion."

"To be sure there is, for those that like it—who doubts it? It's all very well in its place, no doubt," replied Huckaback, with much surprise, which increased, as he felt himself being slowly swayed round towards the building in question. "But what of that?"

"Oh, nothing; but—hem! hem!" replied Titmouse, sinking his voice to a whisper—"a touch of—religion—eh?—would not be so much amiss, just now! I feel—uncommon inclined that way, somehow, 'pon my soul!"

"Religion's all very well, Titty, dear!—for them that has much to be thankful for; but devil take me! what have either you or me to be"——

"But, Huck—how do you know but we might get something to be thankful for, by praying?—I've often heard of great things in that line—but—do come in with me, Huck!"

Huckaback stood for a moment irresolute, twirling about his cane, and looking rather distastefully towards the dingy building. "It won't answer," said he, faintly. Titmouse drew him nearer; but he suddenly started back.—"No! oh, 'tis only a meeting-house, Tit! Curse Dissenters, how I hate 'em! Isn't your precious governor one in that line? Give me a regular-like, respectable church, with a proper steeple, and parson, and prayers, and an organ, and all that!"

Titmouse secretly acknowledged the force of these observations; and the intelligent and piously disposed couple, with perhaps a just, but certainly a somewhat sudden regard for orthodoxy, were not long before they had found their way into a church where evening service was being performed. They ascended the gallery stair; and seeing no reason to be ashamed of being at church, down they both went, with loud clattering steps and a bold air, into the very central seat (which happened to be vacant) in the front of the gallery. Titmouse paid a most exemplary attention to what was going on, kneeling, sitting, and standing with exact propriety, in the proper places; joining audibly in the responses, and keeping his eyes pretty steadily on the prayer-book, which he found lying there. He even rebuked Huckaback for whispering (during one of the most solemn parts of the service) that "there was an uncommon pretty gal in the next pew!"—He thought that the clergyman was a remarkable fine preacher, and said some things that he must have meant for him, Titmouse, in particular!

"Curse me, Hucky!" said he, heatedly, as soon as they had quitted the church, and were fairly in the street—"Curse me if—if—ever I felt so comfortable-like in my mind before, as I do now—see if I don't go again next Sunday!"

"Lord, Tit, you don't really mean—eh?—it's deuced dull work!"

"Hang me if I don't, though! and if anything should come of it—if I do but get the estate—(I wonder, now, where Mr. Gammon goes to church. I should like to know!—I'd go there regularly)—But if I do get the thing—you see if I don't"——

"Ah, I don't know; it's not much use praying for money, Tit; I've tried it myself, once or twice, but it didn't answer!"

"I'll take my oath you was staring at the gals all the while, Hucky!"

"Ah, Titty!" exclaimed Huckaback, and winked his eye, and put the tip of his forefinger to the tip of his nose, and laughed.

Titmouse continued in what he doubtless imagined to be a devout frame of mind, for several minutes after quitting the church. But close by the aforesaid church, the devil had a thriving little establishment, in the shape of a cigar-shop; in which a showily-dressed young Jewess sat behind the counter, right underneath a glaring gas-light—with a narrow stripe of greasy black velvet across her forehead, and long ringlets resting on her shoulders—bandying slang with two or three other such creatures as Titmouse and Huckaback. Our friends entered and purchased a cigar a-piece, which they lit on the spot; and after each of them had exchanged an impudent wink with the Jewess, out they went, puffing away—all the remains of their piety! When they had come to the end of their cigars they parted, each speeding homeward. Titmouse, on reaching his lodgings, sank into profound depression. He felt an awful conviction that his visit to the cigar-shop had entirely spoiled the effect of his previous attendance at the church; and that, if so disposed, (and it served him right,) he might now sit and whistle for his ten thousand a-year. Thoughts such as these drove him nearly distracted. If, indeed, he had foreseen having to go through such another week as the one just over, I think it not impossible that before the arrival of the ensuing Sunday, he might have afforded a little employment to that ancient and gloomy functionary, a coroner, and his jury. At that time, however, inquests of this sort were matter-of-fact and melancholy affairs enough; which I doubt not would have been rather a dissuasive from suicide, in the estimation of one who might be supposed ambitious of the eclat of a modern inquest; where, indeed, such strange antics are played by certain new performers as would suffice to revive the corpse, (if it were a corpse that had ever had a spark of sense or spirit in it,) and make it kick the coroner out of the room.[8] But to one of so high an ambition as Tittlebat Titmouse, how delightful would it not have been, to anticipate becoming (what had been quite impracticable during life) the object of public attention after his death—by means of a flaming dissertation by the coroner on his own zeal and spirit—the nature and extent of his rights, powers, and duties;—when high doctors are brow-beaten, the laws set at defiance, and public decency plucked by the beard, and the torn and bleeding hearts of surviving relatives still further agonized by an exposure, all quivering under the recent stroke, to the gaping vulgar! Indeed, I sometimes think that the object of certain coroners, now-a-days, is twofold; first, public—to disgust people with suicide, by showing what horrid proceedings will take place over their carcasses; and secondly, private—to get the means of studying anatomy by post mortems, which the said coroner never could procure in his own practice; which enables us to account for some things one has lately seen, viz. that if a man come to his death by means of a wagon crushing his legs, the coroner institutes an exact examination of the structure of the lungs and heart. I take it to be getting now into a rule—the propriety whereof, some people think, cannot be doubted—namely, that bodies ought now to be opened only to prove that they ought not to have been opened; an inquest must be held, in order to demonstrate that it need not have been held, except that certain fees thereby find their way into the pocket of the aforesaid coroner, which would otherwise not have done so. In short, such a coroner as I have in my eye may be compared to a great ape squatting on a corpse, furiously chattering and spitting at all around it; and I am glad that it hath at last had wit enough first to shut the door before proceeding to its horrid tricks.

Touching, by the way, the moral of suicide, it is a way which some have of cutting the Gordian knot of the difficulties of life; which having been done, possibly the very first thing made manifest to the spirit, after taking its mad leap into the dark may be—how very easily the said knot might have been UNTIED; nay, that it was on the very point of being untied, if the impatient spirit had stayed only a moment longer!

I said it was not impossible that Mr. Titmouse might, under the circumstances alluded to, have done the deed which has called forth the above natural and profound reflections; but, upon the whole, it is hardly probable; for he knew that by doing so he would (first) irreparably injure society, by depriving it of an enlightened and invaluable member; (secondly,) inflict great indignity on his precious body, of which, during life, he had always taken the most affectionate care, by consigning it to burial in a cross-road, at night-time, with a stake run through it,[9] and moreover peril the little soul that had just leaped out of it, by not having any burial-service said over his aforesaid remains; and (lastly) lose all chance of enjoying Ten Thousand a-Year—at least upon the earth. I own I was a little startled (as I dare say was the pensive reader) at a passage of mournful significance in Mr. Titmouse's last letter to Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, viz.—"How full of trouble I am, often thinking of death, which is the end of everything;" but on carefully considering the context, I am disposed to think that the whole was only an astute device of Titmouse's, either to rouse the fears, or stimulate the feelings, or excite the hopes of the three arbiters of his destiny to whom it was addressed. Mr. Gammon, he thought, might be thereby moved to pity; while Mr. Quirk would probably be operated upon by fears, lest the sad contingency pointed at might deprive the house of one who would richly repay their exertions; and by hopes of indefinite advantage, if they could by any means prevent its happening. That these gentlemen really did keenly scrutinize, and carefully weigh every expression in that letter, ridiculous as it was, and contemptible as, I fear, it showed its writer to be, is certain; but it did not occur to them to compare with it the spirit, at least, and intention of their own answer to it. Did the latter document contain less cunning and insincerity, because it was couched in somewhat superior phraseology? They could conceal their selfish and over-reaching designs, while poor Titmouse exposed all his little mean-mindedness and hypocrisy, simply because he had not learned how to conceal it effectually. 'Twas indeed a battle for the very same object, but between unequal combatants. Each was trying to take in the other. If Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap despised and loathed the man to whom they exhibited such anxious courtesy, Titmouse hated and feared those whom his interests compelled him for a while to conciliate. Was there, in fact, a pin to choose between them—except perhaps that Titmouse was, in a manner, excused by his necessities? But, in the mean while—to proceed—his circumstances were becoming utterly desperate. He continued to endure great suffering at Mr. Tag-rag's during the day—the constant butt of the ridicule and insult of his amiable companions, and the victim of his employer's vile and vulgar spirit of hatred and oppression. His spirit, (such as it was,) in short, was very nearly broken. Though he seized every opportunity that offered, to inquire for another situation, he was unsuccessful; for all whom he applied to, spoke of the strict character they should require, "before taking a new hand into their establishment." His occupation at nights, after quitting the shop, was twofold only—either to call upon Huckaback, (whose sympathy, however, he was exhausting rapidly,) or solace his feelings by walking down to Saffron Hill, and lingering about the closed office of Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap—there was a kind of gratification even in that! He once or twice felt flustered even on catching a glimpse of the old housekeeper returning home with a pint of porter in her hand. How he would have rejoiced to get into her good graces, and accompany her into even the kitchen—when he would be on the premises, at least, and conversing with one of the establishment, of those who he believed could, with a stroke of their pens, turn this wilderness of a world into a paradise for him! But he dared not make any overtures in that quarter, for fear of their getting to the notice of the dreaded Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap.

At length, no more than three or four shillings stood between him and utter destitution; and the only person in the world to whom he could apply for even the most trivial assistance, was Huckaback—whom, however, he knew to be really little better off than himself; and whom, moreover, he felt to be treating him more and more coldly, as the week wore on, without his hearing of any the least tidings from Saffron Hill. Huckaback evidently felt now scarcely any interest or pleasure in the visits of his melancholy friend, and was plainly disinclined to talk about his affairs. At length he quite turned up his nose with disgust, whenever Titmouse took out the well-worn note of Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, (which was almost dropping in pieces with being constantly carried about in his pocket, taken in and out, and folded and unfolded,) for the purpose of conning over its contents, as if there might yet linger in it some hitherto undiscovered source of consolation. Poor Titmouse, therefore, looked at it on every such occasion with as eager and vivid an interest as ever; but it was glanced at by Huckaback with a half-averted eye, and a cold drawling, yawning "Ya—a—as—I see—I—dare—say!" While his impressions of Titmouse's bright prospects were thus being rapidly effaced, his smarting recollections of the drubbing he had received became more distinct and frequent, his feelings of resentment more lively, nor the less so, because the expression of them had been stifled, (while he had considered the star of Titmouse to be in the ascendant,) till the time for setting them into motion and action, had gone by. In fact, the presence of Titmouse, suggesting such thoughts and recollections, became intolerable to Huckaback; and Titmouse's perceptions (dull as they naturally were, but a little quickened by recent suffering) gave him more and more distinct notice of this circumstance, at the precise time when he meditated applying for the loan of a few shillings. These feelings made him as humble towards Huckaback, and as tolerant of his increasing rudeness and ill-humor, as he felt abject towards Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap; for, unless he could succeed in wringing some trifling loan from Huckaback, (if he really had it in his power to advance him anything,) Titmouse really could not conjecture what was to become of him. Various faint but unadroit hints and feelers of his had been thrown away upon Huckaback, who did not, or would not, comprehend them. At length, however, a sudden and fearful pressure compelled poor Titmouse to speak out. Gripe, the collector, called one morning for the poor's rates due from Mrs. Squallop, and drained her of almost every penny of ready money which she had by her. This threw the good woman upon her resources to replenish her empty pocket—and down she came upon Titmouse—or rather, up she went to him; for his heart sank within him, one night on his return from the shop, having only just taken off his hat and lit his candle, as he heard the fat old termagant's well-known heavy step ascending the stairs, and approaching nearer and nearer to his door. Her loud imperative single knock vibrated through his very heart.

"Oh, Mrs. Squallop! How d'ye do, Mrs. Squallop?" commenced Titmouse, faintly, when he had opened the door; "Won't you take a chair?" with trepidation offering to the panting dame almost the only chair he had.

"No—I a'n't come to stay, Mr. Titmouse, because, d'ye see, in coorse you've got a pound, at least, ready for me, as you promised long ago—and never more welcome; there's old Gripe been here to-day, and had his hodious rates—(drat the poor, say I! them as can't work should starve!—rates is a robbery!)—but howsomdever he's cleaned me out to-day; so, in coorse, I come up to you. Got it, Mr. Titmouse?"

"I—I—I—'pon my life, Mrs. Squallop, I'm uncommon sorry"——

"Oh, bother your sorrow, Mr. Titmouse!—out with the needful, for I can't stop palavering here."

"I—I can't, so help me——!" gasped Titmouse, with the calmness of desperation.

"You can't! And marry, sir, why not, may I make bold to ask?" inquired Mrs. Squallop, after a moment's pause, striving to choke down her rage.

"P'r'aps you can get blood out of a stone, Mrs. Squallop; it's what I can't," replied Titmouse, striving to screw his courage up to the sticking place, to encounter one who was plainly bent upon mischief. "I've got two shillings—there they are," throwing them on the table; "and cuss me if I've another rap in the world; there, ma'am! take 'em, do; and drive me desperate!"

"You're a liar, then, that's flat!" exclaimed Mrs. Squallop, slapping her hand upon the table, with a violence that made the candle quiver on it, and almost fall down. "You have the himperance," said she, sticking her arms akimbo, and commencing the address she had been preparing in her own mind ever since Mr. Gripe had quitted her house, "to stand there and tell me you've got nothing in the world but them two shillings! Heugh! Out on you, you oudacious fellow!—you jack-a-dandy! You tell me you haven't got more than them two shillings, and yet turns out every Sunday morning of your life like a lord, with your pins, and your rings, and your chains, and your fine coat, and your gloves, and your spurs, and your dandy cane—ough! you whipper-snapper! You're a cheat—you're a swindler, jack-a-dandy! You're the contempt of the whole court, you are—you jack-a-dandy! You've got all my rent on your back, and so you've had every Sunday for three months, you cheat!—you low fellow!—you ungrateful chap! You're a-robbing the widow and fatherless! Look at me, and my six fatherless children down there, you good-for-nothing, nasty, proud puppy!—eugh! it makes me sick to see you. You dress yourself out like my lord mayor! You've bought a gold chain with my rent, you rascally cheat! You dress yourself out?—Ha, ha!—you're a nasty, mean-looking, humpty-dumpty, carroty-headed"——

"You'd better not say that again, Mrs. Squallop," quoth Titmouse, with a fierce glance.

"Not say it again!—ha, ha! Hoighty-toighty, carroty-haired jack-a-dandy!—Why, you hop-o-my-thumb! d'ye think I won't say whatever I choose, and in my own house, and to a man that can't pay his rent? You're a Titmouse by name and by nature; there a'n't a cockroach crawling in our kitchen that a'n't more harmless than you!—You're a himperant cheat, and dandy, and knave, and a liar, and a red-haired rascal—and that in your teeth! (snapping her fingers.) Ough! Your name stinks in the court. You're a-taking of everybody in as will trust you to a penny's amount. There's poor old Cox, the tailor, with a sick wife and children, whom you've cheated this many months, all of his not having sperrit to summons you! But I'll set him upon you; you see if I don't—and I'll have my own, too, or I wouldn't give that for the laws!" shouted Mrs. Squallop, again furiously snapping her fingers in his face; and then pausing for breath after her eloquent invective.

"Now, what is the use," said Titmouse, gently, being completely cowed—"now, what good can it do to go on in this way, Mrs. Squallop?"

"Missus me no missus, Mr. Titmouse, but pay me my rent, you jack-a-dandy! You've got my rent on your back, and on your little finger; and I'll have it off you before I've done with you, I warrant you. I'm your landlady, and I'll sell you up; I'll have old Thumbscrew here the first thing in the morning, and distrain everything, and you, too, you jackdaw, if any one would buy you, which they won't! I'll have my rent at last: I've been too easy with you, you ungrateful chap; for, mark, even Gripe this morning says, 'Haven't you a gentleman lodger up above? get him to pay you your own,' says he; and so I will. I'm sick of all this, and I'll have my rights! Here's my son, Jem, a far better-looking chap than you, though he hasn't got hair like a sandy mop all under his chin, and he's obligated for to work from one week's end to another, in a paper cap and fustian jacket; and you—you painted jackanapes! But now I have got you, and I'll turn you inside out, though I know there's nothing in you! But I'll try to get at your fine coats, and spurs, and trousers, your chains and pins, and make something of them before I've done with you, you jack-a-dandy!"—and the virago shook her fist at him, looking as though she had not yet uttered even half that was in her heart towards him.

[Alas, alas, unhappy Titmouse, much-enduring son of sorrow! I perceive that you now feel the sharpness of an angry female tongue; and indeed to me, not in the least approving of the many coarse and heart-splitting expressions which she uses, it seems, nevertheless, that she hath not gone exceeding far off the mark in much that she hath said; for, in truth, in your conduct there is not a little that to me, piteously inclined towards you as I am, yet appeareth obnoxious to the edge of this woman's reproaches. But think not, O bewildered and not-with-sufficient-distinctness-discerning-the-nature-of-things Titmouse! that she hath only a sharp and bitter tongue. In this woman behold a mother, and it may be that she will soften before you, who have plainly, as I hear, neither father nor mother. Oh me!]

Poor Titmouse trembled violently; his lips quivered; and the long pent-up tears forced their way at length over his eyelids, and fell fast down his cheeks.

"Ah, you may well cry!—you may! But it's too late!—it's my turn to cry now! Don't you think that I feel for my own flesh and blood, which is my six children? And isn't what's mine theirs? And aren't you keeping the fatherless out of their own? It's too bad of you—it is! and you know it is," continued Mrs. Squallop, vehemently.

"They've got a mother—a kind—good—mother—to take—care of them," sobbed Titmouse; "but there's been no one in the—the—world that cares a straw for me—this twenty—years!" He fairly wept aloud.

"Well, then, more's the pity for you. If you had, they wouldn't have let you make such a puppy of yourself—and at your landlady's expense, too. You know you're a fool," said Mrs. Squallop, dropping her voice a little; for she was a MOTHER, after all, and she knew that what poor Titmouse had just stated was quite true. She tried hard to feed the fire of her wrath, by forcing into her thoughts every aggravating topic against Titmouse that she could think of; but it became every moment harder and harder to do so, for she was consciously softening rapidly towards the weeping and miserable little object, on whom she had been heaping such violent and bitter abuse. He was a great fool, to be sure—he was very fond of fine clothes—- he knew no better—he had, however, paid his rent well enough till lately—he was a very quiet, well-disposed lodger, for all she had known—he had given her youngest, child a pear not long ago. Really, thought Mrs. Squallop, I may have gone a leetle too far.

"Come—it a'n't no use crying in this way," she began in an altered tone. "It won't put money into your pocket, nor my rent into mine. You know you've wronged me, and I must be paid," she added, but in a still lower tone. She tried to cough away a certain rising disagreeable sensation about her throat; for Titmouse, having turned his back to hide the extent of his emotions, seemed half-choked with suppressed sobs.

"So you won't speak a word—not a word—to the woman you've injured so much?" inquired Mrs. Squallop, trying to assume a harsh tone; but her eyes were a little obstructed with tears.

"I—I—can't speak," sobbed Titmouse—"I—I feel ready to drop into a cold early grave!—everybody hates me"—here he paused; and for some moments neither of them spoke. "I've been kept on my legs the whole day about the town by Mr. Tag-rag, and had no dinner. I—I—wish I was dead! I do!—you may take all I have—here it is," continued Titmouse, with his foot pushing towards Mrs. Squallop the old hair trunk that contained all his little finery. "I sha'n't want them much longer, for I'm turned out of my situation."

This was too much for Mrs. Squallop, and she was obliged to wipe her full eyes with the corner of her apron, without saying a word. Her heart smote her for the misery she had inflicted on one who seemed quite broken down. Pity suddenly flew, fluttering his wings—soft dove!—into her heart, and put to flight in an instant all her enraged feelings. "Come, Mr. Titmouse," said she, in quite an altered tone, "never mind me; I'm a plain-spoken woman enough, I dare say—and often say more than I mean—for I know I a'n't over particular when my blood's up—but—lord!—I—I wouldn't hurt a hair of your head, poor chap!—for all I've said—no, not for double the rent you owe me. Come! don't go on so, Mr. Titmouse—what's the use?—it's all quite—over—I'm so sorry—Lud! if I had really thought"—she almost sobbed—"you'd been so—so—why, I'd have waited till to-morrow night before I'd said a word. But, Mr. Titmouse, since you haven't had any dinner, won't you have a mouthful of something—a bit of bread and cheese I—I'll soon fetch you up a bit, and a drop of beer—we've just had it in for our suppers."

"No, thank you—I can't—I can't eat!" sobbed Titmouse.

"Oh, bother it, but you shall! I'll go down and fetch it up in half a minute, as sure as my name's Squallop!" And out of the room and down-stairs she bustled, glad of a moment to recover herself.

"Lord-a-mercy!" said she, on entering her room, to her eldest daughter and a neighbor who had just come in to supper—and while she hastily cut a thick hunch of bread, and a good slice of cheese—"there I've been a-rating that poor little chap, up at the top room, (my dandy lodger, you know,) like anything—and I really don't think he's had a morsel of victuals in his belly this precious day; and I've made him cry, poor soul! as if his heart would break. Pour us out half a pint of that beer, Sally—a good half pint, mind!—I'm going to take it up-stairs directly. I've gone a deal too far with him, I do think; but it's all of that nasty old Gripe; I've been wrong all the day through it! How I hate the sight of old Gripe! What hodious looking people they do get to collect the rates and taxes, to be sure!—Poor chap," she continued, as she wiped out a plate with her apron, and put into it the bread and cheese, together with a knife—"he offered me a chair when I went in, so uncommon civil-like, it took a good while before I could get myself into the humor to give it him as I wanted. And he's no father nor mother, (half of which has happened to you, Sal, and the rest will happen one of these days, you know—so you mind me while you have me!) and he's not such a very bad lodger, after all, though he does get a little behind-hand now and then, and though he turns out every Sunday like a lord, poor fool—as your poor dear father used to say, 'with a shining back and empty belly.'"

"But that's no reason why honest people should be kept out of their own, to feed his pride," interposed her neighbor, a skinny old widow, who had never had chick nor child, and was always behind-hand with her own rent; but whose effects were not worth distraining upon. "I'd get hold of some of his fine crincum-crancums and gimcracks, for security like, if I was you. I would, indeed."

"Why—no, poor soul—I don't hardly like: he's a vain creature, and puts everything he can on his back, to be sure; but he a'n't quite a rogue, neither."

"Ah, ha, Mrs. Squallop—you're such a simple soul!—Won't my fine gentleman make off with his finery after to-night?"

"Well, I shouldn't have thought it! To be sure he may! Really, there can't be much harm in asking him (in a proper kind of way) to deposit one of his fine things with me, by way of security—that ring of his, you know—eh?—Well, I'll try it anyhow," said Mrs. Squallop, as she set off up-stairs.

"I know what I should do, if so be he was a lodger of mine, that's all," said her visitor, significantly, (as Mrs. Squallop quitted the room,) vexed to find her supper so considerably and unexpectedly diminished, especially as to the pot of porter, which she strongly suspected would not be replenished.

"There," said Mrs. Squallop, setting down on the table what she had brought for Titmouse, "there's a bit of supper for you; and you're welcome to it, I'm sure, Mr. Titmouse."

"Thank you, thank you—I can't eat," said he, casting, however, upon the victuals a hungry eye, which belied what he said, while in his heart he longed to be left alone with them for about three minutes.

"Come, don't be ashamed—fall to work—it's good wholesome victuals," said she, lifting the table near to the edge of the bed, on the side of which he was sitting, and taking up the two shillings lying on the table—"and capital good beer, I warrant me; you'll sleep like a top after it."

"You're uncommon kind, Mrs. Squallop; but I sha'n't get a wink of sleep to-night for thinking"——

"Oh, bother your thinking! Let me begin to see you eat a bit. Well, I suppose you don't like to eat and drink before me, so I'll go." [Here arose a sudden conflict in the good woman's mind, whether or not she would act on the suggestion which had been put into her head down-stairs. She was on the point of yielding to the impulse of her own good-natured, though coarse feelings; but at last—] "I—I—dare say, Mr. Titmouse, you mean what's right and straightforward," she stammered.

"Yes, Mrs. Squallop—you may keep those two shillings; they're the last farthing I have left in the whole world."

"No—hem!—hem!—ahem! I was just suddenly a-thinking—now can't you guess, Mr. Titmouse?"

"What, Mrs. Squallop?" inquired Titmouse, meekly but anxiously.

"Why—suppose now—if it were only to raise ten shillings with old Balls, round the corner, on one of those fine things of yours—your ring, say!" [Titmouse's heart sank within him.] "Well, well—never mind—don't fear," said Mrs. Squallop, observing him suddenly turn pale again. "I—I only thought—but never mind! it don't signify—good-night! we can talk about that to-morrow—good-night—a good night's rest to you, Mr. Titmouse!" and the next moment he heard her heavy step descending the stairs. Some little time elapsed before he could recover from the agitation into which he had been thrown by her last proposal; but within five minutes of her quitting the room, there stood before him, on the table, an empty plate and jug.



CHAPTER IV.

"The beast! the fat old toad!" thought he, the instant that he had finished masticating what had been supplied to him by real charity and good-nature—"the vulgar wretch!—the nasty canting old hypocrite!—I saw what she was driving at all the while!—she had her eye on my ring!—She'd have me pawn it at old Balls's—ha, ha!—Catch me! that's all!—Seven shillings a-week for this nasty hole!—I'll be bound I pay nearly half the rent of the whole house—the old cormorant!—out of what she gets from me! How I hate her! More than half my salary goes into her greasy pocket! Cuss me if I couldn't have kicked her down-stairs—porter, bread and cheese, and all—while she was standing canting there!—A snivelling old beldam!—Pawn my ring!!—Lord!!"—Here he began to undress. "Ha! I'm up to her; she'll be coming here to-morrow, with that devil Thumbscrew, to distrain, I'll be sworn. Well—I'll take care of these anyhow;" and, kneeling down and unlocking his trunk, he took out of it his guard-chain, breast-pin, studs, and ring, carefully folded them up in paper, and depositing them in his trousers' pockets, resolved that henceforth their nightly resting-place should be—under his pillow; while during the day they should accompany his person whithersoever he went. Next he bethought himself of the two or three important papers to which Mr. Gammon had referred; and, with tremulous eagerness, read them over once or twice, but without being able to extract from them the slightest clew to their real character and bearing. Then he folded them up in a half sheet of writing-paper, which he proceeded to stitch carefully beneath the lining of his waistcoat; after which he blew out his slim candle, and with a heavy sigh got into bed. For some moments after he had blown out the candle did the image of it remain on his aching and excited retina; and just so long did the thoughts of ten thousand a-year dwell on his fancy, fading, however, quickly away amid the thickening gloom of doubts, and fears, and miseries, which oppressed him. There he lies, stretched on his bed, a wretched figure, lying on his breast, his head buried beneath his feverish arms. Anon, he turns round upon his back, stretches his wearied limbs to their uttermost, folds his arms on his breast, then buries them beneath the pillow, under his head. Now he turns on his right side, then on his left—presently he starts up, and with muttered curse shakes his little pillow, flinging it down angrily. He cannot sleep—he cannot rest—he cannot keep still. Bursting with irritability, he gets out of bed, and steps to the window, which opening wide, a slight gush of fresh air cools his hot face for a moment or two. His wearied eye looks upward and beholds the moon shining overhead in cold splendor, turning the clouds to gold as they flit past her, and shedding a softened lustre upon the tiled roofs and irregular chimney-pots—the only objects visible to him. No sound is heard, but occasionally the dismal cry of disappointed cat, the querulous voice of the watchman, and the echo of the rumbling hubbub of Oxford Street. O miserable Titmouse! of what avail is it for thee thus to fix thy sorrowful lack-lustre eye upon the cold Queen of Night!

* * * * *

At that moment there happened to be also gazing at the same glorious object, but at some two hundred miles' distance from London, a very different person, with very different feelings, and in very different circumstances. It was one of the angels of the earth—a pure-hearted and very beautiful girl; who, after a day of peaceful, innocent, and charitable employment, and having just quitted the piano, where her exquisite strains had soothed and delighted the feelings of her brother, harassed with political anxieties, had retired to her chamber for the night. A few moments before she was presented to the reader, she had extinguished her taper, and dismissed her maid without her having discharged more than half her accustomed duties—telling her that she should finish undressing by the light of the moon, which then poured her soft radiance into every corner of the spacious but old-fashioned chamber. Then she drew her chair to the window-recess, and pushing open the window, sat before it, only partially undressed as she was, her hair dishevelled, her head leaning on her hand, gazing upon the scenery before her with tranquil admiration. Silence reigned absolutely. Not a sound issued from the ancient groves, which spread far and wide on all sides of the fine old mansion in which she dwelt—solemn solitudes, nor yet less soothing than solemn! Was not the solitude enhanced by a glimpse she caught of a restless fawn, glancing in the distance across the avenue, as he silently changed the tree under which he slept?—Then the gentle breeze would enter her window, laden with sweet scents of which he had just been rifling the coy flowers beneath, in their dewy repose, tended and petted during the day by her own delicate hand!—Beautiful moon!—cold and chaste in thy skyey palace, studded with brilliant and innumerable gems, and shedding down thy rich and tender radiance upon this lovely seclusion—was there upon the whole earth a more exquisite countenance then turned towards thee than hers?—Wrap thy white robe, dearest Kate, closer round thy fair bosom, lest the amorous night-breeze do thee hurt, for he groweth giddy with the sight of thy charms! Thy rich tresses, half-uncurled, are growing damp—- so it is time that thy blue eyes should seek repose. Hie thee, then, my love!—to yon antique couch, with its quaint carvings and satin draperies dimly visible in the dusky shade, inviting thee to sleep: and having first bent in cheerful reverence before thy Maker—to bed!—to bed!—sweet Kate, nothing disturbing thy serene slumbers, or agitating that beautiful bosom.—Hush! hush!—now she sleeps! It is well that thine eyes are closed in sleep; for BEHOLD—see!—the brightness without is disappearing; sadness and gloom are settling on the face of nature; the tranquil night is changing her aspect; clouds are gathering, winds are moaning; the moon is gone:—but sleep on, sweet Kate—sleep on, dreaming not of dark days before thee—Oh, that thou couldst sleep on till the brightness returned!

* * * * *

After having stood thus leaning against the window for nearly half an hour, Titmouse, heavily sighing, returned to bed—but there he tossed about in wretched restlessness till nearly four o'clock in the morning. If he now and then sank into forgetfulness for a while, it was only to be harassed by the dreadful image of Mrs. Squallop, shouting at him, tearing his hair, cuffing him, flinging a pot of porter in his face, opening his boxes, tossing his clothes about, taking out his invaluable ornaments; by Tag-rag kicking him out of the shop; and Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap dashing past him in a fine carriage, with six horses, and paying no attention to him as he ran shouting and breathless after him; Huckaback following, kicking and pinching him behind. These were the few little bits of different colored glass in a mental kaleidoscope, which, turned capriciously round, produced those innumerable fantastic combinations out of the simple and ordinary events of the day, which we call dreams—tricks of the wild sisters Fancy, when sober Reason has left her seat for a while. But this is fitter for the Royal Society than the bedroom of Tittlebat Titmouse; and I beg the reader's pardon.

About six o'clock, Titmouse rose and dressed himself; and, slipping noiselessly and swiftly down-stairs, and out of the court, in order to avoid all possibility of encountering his landlady or his tailor, soon found himself in Oxford Street. Not many people were stirring there. One or two men who passed him were smoking their morning's pipe, with a half-awakened air, as if they had only just got out of a snug bed, in which they always slept every moment that they lay upon it. Titmouse almost envied them! What a squalid figure he looked, as he paced up and down, till at length he saw the porter of Messrs. Tag-rag & Co. opening the shop-door. He soon entered it, and commenced another jocund day in that delightful establishment. The amiable Mr. Tag-rag continued unaltered.

"You're at liberty to take yourself off, sir, this very day—this moment, sir; and a good riddance," said he, bitterly, during the course of the day, after demanding of Titmouse how he dared to give himself such sullen airs; "and then we shall see how charming easy it is for gents like you to get another sitiwation, sir! Your looks and manner is quite a recommendation, sir! If I was you, sir, I'd raise my terms! You're worth double what I give, sir!" Titmouse made no reply. "What do you mean, sir, by not answering me—eh, sir?" suddenly demanded Mr. Tag-rag, with a look of fury.

"I don't know what you'd have me say, sir. What am I to say, sir?" inquired Titmouse, with a sigh.

"What, indeed! I should like to catch you! Say, indeed! Only say a word—and out you go, neck and crop. Attend to that old lady coming in, sir. And mind, sir, I've got my eye on you!" Titmouse did as he was bid; and Tag-rag, a bland smile suddenly beaming on his attractive features, hurried down towards the door, to receive some lady-customers, whom he observed alighting from a carriage; and at that moment you would have sworn that he was one of the kindest-hearted sweetest-tempered men in the world.

When at length this day had come to a close, Titmouse, instead of repairing to his lodgings, set off, with a heavy heart, to pay a visit to his excellent friend Huckaback, whom he knew to have received his quarter's salary the day before, and from whom he faintly hoped to succeed in extorting some trifling loan. "If you want to learn the value of money, try to borrow some," says Poor Richard—and Titmouse was now going to learn that useful but bitter lesson. Oh, how disheartening was Mr. Huckaback's reception of him! That gentleman, in answering the modest knock of Titmouse, suspecting who was his visitor, opened the door but a little way, and in that little way, with his hand on the latch, he stood, with a plainly repulsive look.

"Oh! it's you, Titmouse, is it?" he commenced coldly.

"Yes. I—I just want to speak a word to you—only a word or two, Hucky, if you aren't busy?"

"Why, I was just going to go—but what d'ye want, Titmouse?" he inquired in a freezing manner, not stirring from where he stood.

"Let me come inside a minute," implored Titmouse, feeling as if his little heart were really dropping out of him: and, in a most ungracious manner, Huckaback motioned him in.

"Well," commenced Huckaback, with a chilling distrustful look.

"Why, Huck, I know you're a good-natured chap—you couldn't, just for a short time, lend me ten shill"——

"No, curse me if I can: and that's flat!" briskly interrupted Huckaback, finding his worst suspicions confirmed.

"Why, Hucky, wasn't you only yesterday paid your salary?"

"Well!—suppose I was?—what then? You're a monstrous cool hand, Titmouse! I never!! So I'm to lend to you, when I'm starving myself! I've received such a lot, too, haven't I?"

"I thought we'd always been friends, Hucky," said Titmouse, faintly; "and so we shouldn't mind helping one another a bit! Don't you remember, I once lent you half-a-crown?"

"Half-a-crown!—and that's nine months ago!"

"Do, Hucky, do lend me a few shillings. 'Pon my soul, I've not a sixpence in the whole world."

"Ha, ha! A pretty chap to borrow! You can pay so well! By George, Titmouse, you're a cool hand!"

"If you won't lend me, I must starve."

"Go to my uncle's." [Titmouse groaned aloud.] "Well—and why not? What of that?" continued Huckaback, sharply and bitterly. "I dare say it wouldn't be the first time you've done such a trick no more than me. I've been obligated to do it. Why shouldn't you? A'n't there that ring?"

"Oh, Lord! oh, Lord! that's just what Mrs. Squallop said last night!"

"Whew! She's down on you, is she? And you have the face to come to me!! You—that's a-going to be sold up, come to borrow! Lord, that's good, anyhow! A queer use that to make of one's friends;—it's a taking them in, I say!"

"Oh, Huck, Huck, if you only knew what a poor devil"——

"Yes, that's what I was a-saying; but it a'n't 'poor devils' one lends money to so easily, I warrant me; though you a'n't such a poor devil—you're only shamming! Where's your guard-chain, your studs, your breast-pin, your ring, and all that? Sell 'em! if not, anyhow, pawn 'em. Can't eat your cake and have it; fine back must have empty belly with us sort of chaps."

"If you'll only be so uncommon kind as to lend me—this once—ten shillings," continued Titmouse, in an imploring tone, "I'll bind myself, by a solemn oath, to pay you the very first moment I get what's due to me from Tag-rag & Co."—— Here he was almost choked by the sudden recollection that he had next to nothing to receive.

"You've some property in the MOON, too, that's coming to you, you know!" said Huckaback, with an insulting sneer.

"I know what you're driving at," said poor Titmouse; and he continued eagerly, "and if anything should ever come up from Messrs. Quirk, Gam"——

"Yough! Faugh! Pish! Stuff!" burst out Huckaback, in a tone of contempt and disgust; "never thought there was anything in it, and now know it! It's all my eye, and all that! You've been only humbugging me all this while!"

"Oh, Hucky, Hucky! You don't say so!" groaned Titmouse, bursting into tears; "you did not always say so."

"It's enough that I say it now, then; will that do?" interrupted Huckaback, impetuously.

"Oh, Lord, Lord! what is to become of me?" cried Titmouse, with a face full of anguish.

[At this moment, the following was the course of thought passing through the mind of Mr. Huckaback:—It is not certain that nothing will come of the fellow's affair with Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap. It was hardly likely that they would have gone as far as Titmouse represented, (lawyers as they were), unless they had seen very substantial grounds for doing so. Besides, even though Titmouse might not get ten thousand a-year, he might yet succeed in obtaining a very splendid sum of money: and if he (Huckaback) could but get a little slice out of it, Titmouse was now nearly desperate, and would promise anything; and if he could but be wheedled into giving anything in writing—Well, thought Huckaback, I'll try it however!]

"Ah, Titmouse, you're civil enough now, and would promise anything," said Huckaback, appearing to hesitate; "but supposing I were to do what you want, when you got your money you'd forget everything about it"——

"Forget my promise! Dear Hucky! only try me—do try me but once, that's all! 'Pon my precious life, ten shillings is worth more to me now than a hundred pounds may be by-and-by."

"Ay, so you say now; but d'ye mean to tell me, that in case I was now to advance you ten shillings out of my small salary," continued Huckaback, apparently carelessly, "you'd, for instance, pay me a hundred pounds out of your thousands?"

"Oh, Lord! only you try me—do try me!" said Titmouse, eagerly.

"Oh, I dare say!" interrupted Huckaback, smiling incredulously, and chinking some money in his trousers pocket. Titmouse heard it, and (as the phrase is) his teeth watered; and he immediately swore such a tremendous oath as I dare not set down in writing, that if Huckaback would that evening lend him ten shillings, Titmouse would give him one hundred pounds out of the very first moneys he got from the estate.

"Ten shillings is a slapping slice out of my little salary—I shall have, by George, to go without lots of things I'd intended getting; it's really worth ten pounds to me, just now."

"Why, dear Hucky! 'pon my life, 't is worth a hundred to me! Mrs. Squallop will sell me out, bag and baggage, if I don't give her something to-morrow!"

"Well, if I really thought—hem!—would you mind giving me, now, a bit of black and white for it—just (as one might say) to show you was in earnest?"

"I'll do anything you like; only let me feel the ten shillings in my fingers!"

"Well, no sooner said than done, if you're a man of your word," said Huckaback, in a trice producing a bit of paper, and a pen and ink. "So, only just for the fun of it; but—Lord! what stuff!—I'm only bargaining for a hundred pounds of moonshine. Ha, ha! I shall never see the color of your money, not I; so I may as well say two hundred when I'm about it, as one hundred"——

"Why, hem! Two hundred, Huck, is rather a large figure; one hundred's odds enough, I'm sure!" quoth Titmouse, meekly.

"P'r'aps, Tit, you forget the licking you gave me the other day," said Huckaback, with sudden sternness. "Suppose I was to go to an attorney, and get the law of you, what a sight of damages I should have—three hundred pounds at least!"

Titmouse appeared even yet hesitating.

"Well, then!" said Huckaback, flinging down his pen, "suppose I have them damages yet"——

"Come, come, Hucky, 't is all past and gone, all that"—

"Is it? Well, I never! I shall never be again the same man I was before that 'ere licking. I've a sort of a—a—of a—feeling inside, as if—my breast was—I shall carry it to my grave—curse me if I sha'n't!"

[It never once occurred to Titmouse, not having his friend Mr. Gammon at his elbow, that the plaintiff in the action of Huckaback v. Titmouse might have been slightly at a loss for a witness of the assault; but something quite as good in its way—a heaven-sent suggestion—did occur to him.]

"Ah," said Titmouse, suddenly, "that's true; and uncommon sorry am I; but still, a hundred pounds is a hundred pounds, and a large sum for the use of ten shillings, and a licking; but never you think it's all moonshine about my business with Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap! I didn't intend to have said a word—but—you should only have heard what I've heard to-day from those gents; hem! but I won't split again either!" he added mysteriously.

"Eh? What? Heard from those gents at Saffron Hill?" interrupted Huckaback, briskly; "come, Titty, out with it—out with it; no secrets between friends, Titty!"

"No, I'll be hanged if I do—I won't spoil it all again; and now, since I've let out as much, which I didn't mean to do, I'll tell you something else—ten shillings is no use to me, I must have a pound."

"Titty, Titty!" exclaimed Huckaback, with unaffected concern.

"And I won't give more than fifty for it when I get my property either"—— [Huckaback whistled aloud, and with a significant air buttoned up the pocket which contained the money; intimating that now the negotiation was all at an end, for that Titmouse's new terms were quite out of the question;] "for I know where I can get twenty pounds easily, only I liked to come to a friend first."

"You aren't behaving much like a friend to one as has always been a fast friend of yours, Titty! A pound!—I haven't got it to part with, that's flat; so, if that's really your lowest figure, why, you must even go to your other friend, and leave poor Hucky!"

"Well, I don't mind saying only ten shillings," quoth Titmouse, fearing that he had been going on rather too fast.

"Ah, that's something reasonable-like, Titty! and to meet you like a friend, I'll take fifty pounds instead of a hundred; but you won't object now to—you know—a deposit; that ring of yours—well, well! it don't signify, since it goes against you; so now, here goes, a bit of paper for ten shillings, ha, ha!" and taking a pen, after a pause, in which he called to mind as much of the phraseology of money securities as he could, he drew up the following stringent document, which I give verbatim et literatim:—

"Know all Men That you are bound to Mr. R. Huckaback Promising the Bearer (on Demand) To Pay Fifty Pounds in cash out of the estate, if you Get it. (Value received.)

"(Witness,) 22d July 18—.

"R. HUCKABACK."

"There, Titty—if you're an honest man, and would do as you would be done by," said Huckaback, after signing his own name as above, handing the pen to Titmouse, "sign that; just to show your honor, like—for in course—bating the ten shillings I've lent you—I sha'n't ever come on you for the money—get as much as you may."

A blessed thought occurred to poor Titmouse in his extremity, viz. that there was no stamp on the above instrument, (and he had never seen a promissory-note or bill of exchange without one;) and he signed it instantly, with many fervent expressions of gratitude. Huckaback received the valuable security with apparently a careless air; and after cramming it into his pocket, as if it had been in reality only a bit of waste paper, counted out ten shillings into the eager hand of Titmouse; who, having thus most unexpectedly succeeded in his mission, soon afterwards departed—each of this pair of worthies fancying that he had succeeded in cheating the other. Huckaback, having very cordially shaken Titmouse by the hand, heartily damned him upon shutting the door on him; and then anxiously perused and re-perused his "security," wondering whether it was possible for Titmouse at any time thereafter to evade it, and considering by what means he could acquaint himself with the progress of Titmouse's affairs. The latter gentleman, as he hurried homeward, dwelt for a long while upon only one thought—how fortunate was the omission of his friend to have a stamp upon his security! When and where, thought he, was it that he had heard that nothing would do without a stamp? However, he had got the ten shillings safe; and Huckaback might wait for his fifty pounds till—but in the meanwhile he, Titmouse, seemed to stand a fair chance of going to the dogs; the ten shillings, which he had just obtained with so much difficulty, were to find their way immediately into the pockets of his landlady, whom it might pacify for a day or two, and to what quarter was he now to look for the smallest assistance? What was to become of him? Titmouse was a miserable fool; but thoughts such as these, in such circumstances as his, would have forced themselves into the mind of even a fool! How could he avoid—oh, horrid thought!—soon parting with, or at least pawning, his ring and his other precious trinkets? He burst into a perspiration at the mere thought of seeing them hanging ticketed for sale in the window of old Balls! As he slowly ascended the stairs which led to his apartment, he felt as if he were following some unseen conductor to a dungeon.

He was not aware that all this while, although he heard nothing from them, he occupied almost exclusively the thoughts of those distinguished practitioners in the law, Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap. They, in common with Huckaback, had an intense desire to share in his anticipated good fortune, and determined to do so according to their opportunities. The excellent Huckaback (a model of an usurer on a small scale) had promptly and adroitly seized hold of the very first opportunity that presented itself, for securing a little return hereafter for the ten shillings, with which he had so generously parted when he could so ill afford it; while Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap were racking their brains, and from time to time, those of Messrs. Mortmain and Frankpledge, to discover some instrument strong and large enough to cut a fat slice for themselves out of the fortune they were endeavoring, for that purpose, to put within the reach of Mr. Titmouse. A rule of three mode of stating the matter would be thus: as the inconvenience of Huckaback's parting with his ten shillings and his waiver of damages for a very cruel assault, were to his contingent gain, hereafter, of fifty pounds; so were Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap's risk, exertions, outlay, and benefit conferred on Titmouse, to their contingent gain of ten thousand pounds. The principal point of difference between them was—as to the mode of securing their future recompense; in which it may have been observed by the attentive reader, with respect to the precipitancy of Huckaback and the hesitating caution of Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, that—"thus fools" (e. g. Huckaback) "rushed in where angels" (i. e. Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap) "feared to tread." Let me not, however, for a moment, insinuate that both these parties were actuated by only one motive, i. e. to make a prey of this little monkey millionnaire that was to be. 'Tis true that Huckaback appears to have driven rather a hard bargain with his distressed friend, (and almost every one who, being similarly situated, has occasion for such services as Titmouse sought from Huckaback, will find himself called upon to pay, in one way or another, pretty nearly the same price for them;) but it was attended with one good effect;—for the specific interest in Titmouse's future prosperity, acquired by Huckaback, quickened the latter gentleman's energies and sharpened his wits in the service of his friend. But for this, indeed, it is probable that Mr. Huckaback's door would have become as hopelessly closed against Titmouse as was that of Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap. Some two or three nights after the little transaction between the two friends which I have been describing, Huckaback called upon Titmouse, and after greeting him rather cordially, told him that he had come to put him up to a trick upon the Saffron Hill people, that would tickle them into a little activity in his affairs. The trick was—the sending a letter to those gentlemen calculated to—but why attempt to characterize it? I have the original document lying before me, which was sent by Titmouse the very next morning to Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap; and here follows a verbatim copy of it:—