y my tears. Alas! for the lovers of the romantic, I did none of
these. I told you before all my incidents turn out to be mere
matter-of-fact affairs. Like a good boy, I did as the magistrate bade
me. As I passed by Saint Paul's, Covent Garden, I turned into the
churchyard; and with a silent prayer for the departed, and asking pardon
of God for the profanation of which I had been guilty, I poured out the
whole of the dust, with reverence, on a secluded spot, and then returned
and joined my companions.

Taking leave of them shortly after, I repaired to the White Horse, in
Fetter Lane, and, eating a light supper, retired to bed early, and thus
finished this very memorable day.

On the day succeeding, I found my arm so much swollen, and myself
altogether so ill, that I kept my bed. I need not mention that the same
surgeon attended me. I took this opportunity of furnishing myself with
a few necessaries and a carpet-bag; so I was no longer the gentleman
without any luggage.

On the third day of my confinement to the house, sitting alone in the
deserted coffee-room, chewing the cud of my bitter fancies, Mr Pigtop
made his appearance. Though I knew the man to be thoroughly selfish, I
believed him to have that dogged sort of honesty not uncommon to very
vulgar minds. As, just then, any society was welcome, I received his
condolements very graciously, and requested his company to dinner. My
invitation was gladly accepted; and he occupied the time previous to
that repast in giving me a history of his life. It was a very common
one. He was the son of a warrant-officer. He was all but born on board
a man-of-war. At the age of fifteen he got his rating as a midshipman,
and then rose to be a master's mate. There his promotion ceased, and,
to all appearances, for ever. He had been already twenty-five years in
the service, and was turned forty.

Never having had anything beyond his pay, his life had been one of
ceaseless privation and discontent. He had now nearly spent all his
money, and had omitted to make those reparations to his wardrobe,
rendered so necessary by the malignity of Joshua Daunton. He wished to
leave the service, and be anything rather than what he had been. He had
no relations living, and positively no friends. His prospects were most
disconsolate, and his wretchedness seemed very great. However, he found
considerable relief in unburthening himself to me.

After our frugal dinner of rump steak